A Code to Live By
by MioneAlterEgo
Summary: A glance into the unexpected relationship between Nell Jones and G Callen, told through a series of connected vignettes.  Unabashedly Nallen, with a side of Densi, too.
1. Confidence

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Still not mine. Alas.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Back in October I was combing the net for some good Nallen fic and was disappointed to discover that (with a few notable exceptions) there's just not a lot out there for these two. I really love this underappreciated pairing and, as luck would have it, I was in something of a Densi-writing dry spell at the time. So, I decided to tackle the problem head-on with a self imposed mini-challenge, writing something word-of-the-day style for G Callen and Nell Jones.

The title is a reference to a line from the original _NCIS _series, when Shannon tells Gibbs that she has a rule for everything because "everyone needs a code they can live by." Each vignette here is based on a word-be it personality trait, value, or idea-that would influence Nell and Callen in their work, as individuals, and ultimately influence their relationship with one another. The vignettes/chapters will vary in length, style, POV, etc., so I'll try to give a little heads-up in the Author's Notes if there's anything crazy going on.

This story would certainly never have seen the light of day were it not for the invaluable insight and encouragement of the one and only imahistorian (aka Mel). She may not be a Nell/Callen shipper herself (I'm working on her!), but this story is definitely better written, more interesting, and more fully realized because of her contributions. I couldn't possibly wish for a better beta, idea-bouncer-offer, Densi shipmate, and friend. And if you're not reading her epically amazing "Truth Be Told," you really should be. Yes, you should. It's true.

Anyway, thank you so much for giving this story a go! It's been a blast getting to explore their world, so I hope you enjoy reading it, too!

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><p>She knows this crush won't lead anywhere. After all, what could a guy like Callen see in a girl like her?<p>

Guys like Callen don't date girls like Nell. Hot, loner bad-boys with piercing blue eyes just don't go after scrawny, geeky overachievers. She's known this for a fact since about the 8th grade.

It's not any big deal, she reasons, that she finds herself attracted to him. Women are drawn to bad-boys. It's an anthropological fact: females naturally interpret rebelliousness as a sign that the male is unafraid to break rules and will therefore do anything and everything necessary to survive and provide. Nell may not even have a choice about the attraction, she tells herself; she's merely a victim of evolutionary science.

So the fact that her heart stutters and electricity skitters just under the surface of her skin any time he gives her The Look really isn't her fault. It's genetic. The way his combination of stare-and-smirk shuts down all her logical thought processes and leaves her short of breath is really nothing more than an involuntary physiological response. Really. Her extensive knowledge of which of his pairs of jeans do the best things for his rear means nothing—it's just a biological urge to propagate the species. It's definitely not a sign that she's got it bad for her obscenely attractive almost-boss, and it's certainly no indication of interest on his part. He may not even realize he's doing it.

Except that it's happening more and more lately. Not just The Look, but he's talking to her more than usual, cracking jokes, asking more questions. It's almost like he's finding excuses to be around her or make conversation, and she's even caught him staring at her once or twice. One day a few weeks ago, he walked all the way upstairs instead of just calling or e-mailing to ask a question she was sure she'd already answered earlier in the morning. Another day, the air conditioning in the Ops center was on the fritz, and by the time the field agents came upstairs for their status updates it was pushing 90 degrees in the room. Without even thinking about it, Nell had tugged off her cardigan sweater and given the rest of the briefing in her tank top. Her assets were still covered, but it was certainly more skin than she was accustomed to showing, and she could have sworn his eyes darkened a couple of shades as he watched her. Then one night, after they'd all stayed at the Mission much later than usual wrapping up some paperwork, he'd texted her to make sure she made it home okay. She was pretty sure he wouldn't have texted Kensi or Eric. But he'd texted her, just to see that she was safe and say good night.

If one of her girlfriends had described a guy behaving like this, she'd swear up and down that the guy in question was flirting and would encourage the girl to flirt right back, take control of the situation, and go after what she wanted. A thought briefly crosses her mind that she could do the same.

_But that's impossible,_ she decides. _He's not flirting with you. He can't be. A guy like Callen wouldn't be interested in a girl like you._

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><p>He knows this crush will never go anywhere. After all, what would a woman like Nell see in a guy like him?<p>

G Callen has always had pretty decent luck getting women, but when it comes to actual relationships he's a disaster waiting to happen, which is why he never lets it get that far. Relationships—good relationships—are supposed to be built on trust and honesty; when he can't even be honest with women about what he does for a living it makes it awfully hard for them to trust him, and he's been tossed aside enough times in his life that he's got some pretty spectacular trust issues of his own.

Not that it will ever be an issue with Nell, because nothing will ever come of this anyway. What woman in her right mind would want anything to do with a 40-something year old pseudo-divorcé who doesn't even know his own first name?

There's no harm in looking though.

Nell's not his usual type, but there's something about her that draws his attention. Maybe it's the red hair that somehow matches her personality, or the faint scatter of freckles across her nose and cheekbones, or the hazel-brown eyes that light up whenever she's tackling a new project. It's surely nothing to do with the fact that she's so tiny he can imagine how easy it would be to wrap his arms all the way around her or lift her straight off the ground. Maybe he can blame it on her choice of wardrobe. She tends toward long sleeves, wide neck lines, and tights so much that on the odd occasion she wears something sleeveless, lower cut, or that shows off her legs he can't focus on anything else for at least an hour afterward. The day she gave a briefing in a tank top he was so distracted he almost had to leave the room.

If it was just her looks, she might be easier to write her off. But it's not. Despite her age, she's one of the top intelligence analysts in the country. Hetty would never have kept her around if she wasn't; the fact that she's earned Hetty's trust at all speaks worlds for her talent, skill, and potential. She can hack complex encryption, create microdots on the fly, read Arabic and speak Spanish, even correctly brew a pot of tea to the most exacting standards. And when she verbally bitch-slaps incompetent national security experts or LAPD liaison officers who've fallen behind on their paperwork, it's a scary kind of turn-on (which really makes him question his own mental health). She's like an earthquake or a flash-flood—a powerful natural event that seems to spring up out of nowhere and leaves you wondering what on earth just happened.

And so he flirts with disaster. He makes excuses to chat with her, does his best to be charming, lets her catch him staring because he gets a tiny thrill out of the way her cheeks turn pink when she realizes what he's doing and an even bigger thrill when she smiles or says something clever back. It's been a long time since he's been this interested in a woman, but since nothing will ever happen between them, he's figures there's probably no harm in playing the cards he's got.

_There's no way she'll ever take the bait anyway, _he tells himself._ A girl like Nell would never want to be with a guy like you._


	2. Stealth

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **I asked for my own Deeks and Callen for my birthday. Didn't get 'em. So I guess they're still not mine.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **First off, HOLY COW! I'm floored by the positive response to the first chapter! (Really thought that my beta and I might be the only ones to read it, so to see 19 reviews already sorta blew my mind. LOL) Thank you to EVERYONE who Favorited, Alerted, or left a review. I can't tell you what a huge encouragement it's been!

Second, eleventy-one dozen thank-you's to my Beta Extraordinaire and Fandom BFF **imahistorian **(aka Mel). Her expert guidance has been indispensible, and if you're not reading her epic "Truth Be Told" you should really get on that, because stuff's about to get REAL. Read this, then go over there. You'll thank me later.

This segment is short, but it's one of my favorites. Hope you guys enjoy it, too!

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><p><strong>STEALTH<br>**Her head has been swirling for three weeks. That's how long this dance has been going on. Forward and backward, advance and retreat, complicated side-steps, and so many twirls and spins...

As a little girl, she took ballet. It didn't last long, but she remembers the importance of spotting—keeping your eyes trained on one mark during turns so that you don't lose your balance or get dizzy. The problem is that the object she's keeping her eyes on is exactly the thing making her head swirl in the first place.

She's ready for this dance to resolve itself. One way or another she wishes he'd either take the lead or bow out, whatever allows her to regain her equilibrium. Every time it feels like they're getting close to something, he backs off. Every time she's ready to give up, he steps forward. For a woman accustomed to merely ignoring guys she likes it's especially dizzying.

Even though it's only Wednesday night the whole team (with the exception of Hetty) has gathered at a bar on West Sunset. It's unusually crowded for the middle of the week, so they find themselves standing clustered around one of those small, round tables that's really only meant to hold a few glasses while the patrons chat. Between the throngs of people and the too-loud jukebox it's difficult to visit very much, but they're enjoying each other's company just the same. The six of them shuffle and shift between one another, moving from one half-shouted conversation to the next in the kind of easy waltz born only of practice and familiarity.

At one point, the entire team ends up on the same side of the tiny table, scrunched together to watch an impromptu dance-off taking place on the club's microscopic dance floor. It's at this moment that Nell realizes Callen is standing directly behind her. She can feel the heat in the room rise about twelve degrees with his presence and can almost feel the smirk on his face.

_He's doing this to mess with me_, she realizes. _Fine. If that's how he wants to play this, let's play._ She spares a fleeting thought for her control issues, takes a deep breath, and slowly enough so as not to jostle Sam standing next to her, she shifts her weight until she feels her back graze against the front of Callen's shirt.

It's a sneaky move, barely enough to draw his attention. They're so crowded and have been standing for so long that, even if one of the others had seen it, they'd likely have written it off as Nell just trying to get comfortable or find a better sight line. It's also innocent enough that if she's completely misjudged the situation and Callen doesn't want to tango she can feign surprise, apologize for backing into him, and carry on as though nothing happened. But, true to recent form, just as she thinks he hasn't noticed or doesn't want to play along she feels his fingertips ghost over her waist and settle lightly on her hips.

The height of the table and the mass ofbodies around them all but guarantee none of the others have noticed. Indeed, they're all still laughing and carrying on as Deeks and Sam (both several shots deep) lip-sync to a very over-the-top rendition of "You've Lost That Lovin' Feeling" aimed directly at Kensi, much to Kensi's inebriated amusement and the applause of Eric and several bystanders. At that moment Nell couldn't have cared less if the whole club went up in flames and Hetty herself lit the match. She's honestly a little surprised the place hasn't spontaneously combusted before now.

When Eric turns back over his shoulder to make some joking remark to Callen about the serenade, Callen's hands tighten just slightly on Nell's body. It's spontaneous, reflexive and possessive, and she can feel the blush creeping up her neck and cheeks at the implication.

Lead and follow, forward and back. This time, it's Callen who takes a half-step closer to her, eliminating any remaining gap between them as practically the whole length of her body makes contact with his. She can feel the rumble of his voice in his chest and his breath brushing against her neck long before his actual words register in her mind.

"Having fun?"

"Are you?" she counters.

His only response is the slow slide of his thumbs, back and forth, along a bare slice of skin where her top has ridden up just slightly above the waistband of her skirt, and for a good four minutes Nell Jones forgets to breathe.

The sensory overload of the place works to their subversive favor. The constant ebb and flow of bodies around them camouflages their own maneuvers as they lean and press into one another. The shoddy lighting and the effects of the alcohol conveniently mask flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. The deafening volume of the stereo speakers is more than sufficient to cover his muffled curse when she slips past him to get another drink and her hip grazes across the front of his jeans. And in the crowded, noisy, intoxicated haze of a badly-lit bar, no one notices a thing when Callen hooks an arm around Nell's waist, steers her toward a dark corner far away from the others, and finally captures her lips in a kiss that leaves nothing to supposition.

The next morning, when Callen stands directly behind her during the briefing and brushes his hand across the small of her back, Nell has to fight to keep a big, stupid grin off her face. Their dance isn't over, not by a long-shot, but she's a little more confident in following his lead.


	3. Adventurous

**A CODE TO LIVE BY**  
><strong>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Are they yours? No? Too bad. They're not mine, either.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **So, this is the chapter I lovingly refer to as "the chapter from hell" (or TCFH to be more efficient) because writing it gave me such fits I nearly gave up and deleted the whole darned story. No idea why, except the bunnies were feeling vicious, like the killer bunny from the end of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. Anyway. All kudos go to Mel, aka **imahistorian** (Densi writer extraordinaire, beta _par excellence_, and part-time crisis counselor), for without her this chapter truly would've sucked. She drinks from the keg of glory, people. Bring her the finest muffins and bagels in all the land.

ALSO, I'm posting two chapters this time! The next one (Ch. 4 - Balance) is super-short (but cute) so keep reading for the next bit. :-) THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU to all who have left reviews or PM'd me, or Favorited/Alerted! Seriously, you don't know how much it's appreciated and how every note in the Inbox brightens my day. Y'all rock! And now, without further ado, Chapter 3 - "Adventurous."

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><p><strong>ADVENTUROUS<strong>  
>Callen had stopped Nell on her way out of the building two days before. After a couple of moments of semi-awkward small-talk, Nell had watched with a degree of amusement as Callen appeared to brace himself before asking if she'd like to grab dinner or a beer or something on Thursday night, to which she'd agreed without hesitation. It gave her a girlish sort of thrill to realize he might be as nervous about talking to her as she was about talking to him. Despite their recent flirting (and the surprisingly passionate kiss they'd shared when the team went to the bar the week before), they were both treading in uncharted waters. Nell, for one, was glad to see she wasn't the only one who was uncertain about the depths they'd found themselves in.<p>

After a pleasant meal at a quiet diner near the Santa Monica Pier, Nell had suggested a stroll on the boardwalk. Despite Callen's eye-rolling at the tourist-trap aspect of the place, he had to admit it made for some interesting people watching. And so they'd ventured out across the pier, commenting and speculating on the people, the sights, and whatever else happened to capture their attention. Eventually they found themselves standing outside a video game arcade. Colorful lights flickered from within as the computer-generated explosions and cartoonish sound effects drifted through the air.

"We should play something," Nell announced. "I haven't been into an arcade in a long time."

"Alright," Callen conceded. "But don't think I'm going to let you win just because you're a girl."

"I grew up in front of a computer. You think I need a mercy win in an arcade game?" she scoffed.

"I'll make you a deal. We pick one game, play one round, winner take all. When I win, you get to buy me a beer."

Nell arched her eyebrows in question. "And what happens when I win?"

"You get to pick where we go out to eat next weekend."

_Next weekend._ Nell could have sworn she heard the faintest edge of uncertainty in his voice as he spoke, and she almost missed the moment when his eyes cut over to hers as though seeking approval. She pressed her lips together as she fought to keep a grin off her face. _Next weekend._ He was already thinking about another date. She took a deep breath and forcibly shoved the butterflies back down into the safe confines of her ribcage, offering Callen a single nod and a handshake instead of the giddy squeak she was terrified might escape instead.

"The terms of the wager are acceptable," she answered as she extended her hand, the picture of courage under fire. "Let's do this."

Callen chuckled as he reached out and shook her hand, sealing their unofficial deal. A jolt of adrenaline and something sharper shot through her when his thumb grazed over sensitive skin at her wrist.

After debating the merits and drawbacks of nearly every game in the arcade and vetoing them for various reasons (shooting games were deemed not fair to Nell, and Dance Dance Revolution was deemed grossly unfair to Callen), they were beginning to run out of options. Finally, Callen's eyes landed on an acceptable compromise.

"How do you feel about air hockey?" he asked, eyebrow quirking upward in silent challenge. Nell considered it for a brief moment. She had always loved to play the game, and had even managed to beat her younger brother on occasion, but couldn't honestly say she was very good at it. Not that she'd ever admit it to Callen. Instead, she straightened her shoulders and planted her hands defiantly on her hips, mask of bravado firmly in place. _Fake it till you make it, right?_

"Bring it on, Agent Callen," she challenged.

The arcade was crowded for a weeknight, so they had to wait for another pair to finish their game before they could claim one of the air hockey tables for their own duel. The butterflies in Nell's stomach ran riot when Callen shifted to stand directly behind her as they waited, hands on her hips, just as he'd done at the bar the night their uncharted journey had been set in motion. Still, she allowed herself to relax against him as they watched the two combatants already at the table (a pair of enthusiastic teenage boys) finishing their game. Finally, the boys finished and Callen and Nell squared off at opposite ends of the table.

"You really think you can take me?" he asked, mischief glinting in his blue eyes.

"Without breaking a sweat," she shot back.

"That's big talk coming from such a—"

"Make a short joke and I'll throw a puck at you."

Callen waved the plastic disc in the air. "My serve."

It was hard not to get distracted, Callen decided. Watching Nell's cheeks flush with excitement when she scored, the look of near-panic in her eyes when she accidentally knocked the puck into her own goal, the way she bit her lip in concentration—it was all _very _distracting, and almost comical watching her facial expressions; he could practically hear the younger woman thinking and doing the geometry of each shot in her head. He chuckled to himself and only barely managed to deflect the puck flying toward him and knock it back across the table to Nell's goal.

Despite her enthusiasm and a respectable streak of luck, Nell discovered too late that she'd drastically underestimated Callen's level of skill at the game. She managed to hang on until the last few minutes when her arm started to get tired and Callen was able to score twice in rapid succession, bringing the match to a close. She groaned and shook a fist at the sky melodramatically, while Callen tried unsuccessfully to control his laughter at the display.

"Fine," she grumbled. "You win."

"Come on, Gretzky," he chuckled, slipping an arm around her waist. "Fair's fair. You owe me a beer."

They found a small bar just off the main drag, a place Callen had been a few times before but not for several months, and settled into a quiet booth in the back corner. Nell shook her head remorsefully as she handed the waitress her credit card to open their tab for the night.

"I can't believe I lost. That used to be my favorite."

"You put up a good fight," Callen conceded. "But you were over-thinking it. I could see you mapping out every serve and the game moves to fast to be able to do that. You just have to roll with it."

"I do that a lot," she confessed, her tone sliding gradually from self-deprecating to contemplative. "Over-think things, I mean. Everything, really. And I try to control stuff that is not always necessarily good for me to control. Including relationships. I usually end up wearing the pants, and I hate that."

Callen frowned. "I thought most women liked being able to call the shots."

"Not really. There are certain decisions we need to make for ourselves and of course we want our opinions to be heard and valued, but we don't want to have to do _all_ the work. No woman wants to date a pushover."

"So, you'd only want to date someone who's willing to put up a fight. Call you out on your crap sometimes."

Nell cocked her head to the side. "I hadn't really worded it in those terms, but basically, yes."

"Sounds like a challenge," Callen replied, lifting his bottle to his lips.

"Most guys don't seem to like it much."

"Well, maybe you need to quit dating guys. Maybe you need to start dating men."

"Know any good ones?" she chuckled.

"I might."

They sat in silence for several long moments before Nell spoke again.

"G, what are we doing?"

"Besides drinking a beer?"

"I mean, what's going on between us? Are we… flirting? Dating? What?"

He smirked. "You're doing that thing. Trying to control the situation. Trying to steer it."

"Fair point. I just… I just need to know what to expect. I'm not really a friends-with-benefits type of girl."

Callen shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, you're not. I like spending time with you, but I'm not very good at this kind of thing."

"Dating, you mean."

"Dating is different than being in a relationship. Dating is casual, not much at stake. It's the relationship part that's trouble. Relationships require things like commitment and trust. They can make you vulnerable. Weak."

"So, which are we doing, then?" Nell asked quietly.

Callen studied her for a moment. Calm eyes read his, patiently waiting for a reply. He frowned a bit as he realized that so many of his usual excuses for not being in a relationship—_she can't know about me, she can't know about my work, she wouldn't understand, I'd be putting her in danger_—didn't apply. Nell knew exactly who he was and what he did for a living and why, and by virtue of her involvement with the agency she was already at risk. And yet, she seemed to want to be with him anyway. Not having an answer for her, he opted instead to hedge around the question.

"I'm not very good at relationships. Stability isn't my strong suit, and I've been accused more than once of putting up walls."

"Sounds like a challenge," she smirked, echoing his words from just moments before.

"Most women don't like that," he volleyed back.

"Maybe you just aren't dating the right ones."

"Know any good ones?"

She arched an eyebrow at him.

"Look, Nell," he sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. "I like being with you, but if we do this…" he trailed off.

"It isn't going to be easy," she finished for him.

"No."

"The others are likely to give us grief for it."

"Yeah."

"Plus, there are all the usual complications of seeing a co-worker-time management, separating professional from personal, et cetera."

"Right."

"But when has anything we do ever been easy?" She smiled as she plucked nervously at the label on her bottle. "G, if you want to stop, I understand. I honestly do. And no hard feelings. But if you want to keep going… I'm up for the challenge if you are."

Callen studied her again, cool blue eyes meeting warm hazel. She was being neither emotional nor demanding (despite his accusations of her "steering"); all he could detect in her gaze was the same spark of cautious curiosity he often saw when she was contemplating a new clue in a case. A small, quiet voice that sounded not unlike Sam whispered in the back of his mind.

_If you're going to take a chance, she'd be a good one to take it with._

"I can't promise I'm not going to be terrible at this," he warned.

"Me either," she confessed.

"Then if we're both going to be terrible… We might as well be terrible together."

The smile that spread across her face seemed to light their entire dark corner of the bar. They wordlessly raised their bottles and clinked the ends together in a silent toast. _I'm up for the challenge if you are._

They drove back to Nell's apartment in companionable silence, each contemplating the leap they'd agreed to take. It gave Callen an unexpected thrill of pride when he glanced over and saw Nell staring quietly out the window and smiling to herself, knowing he'd put the smile on her face. When they arrived and parked outside of her building she turned to look at him to say goodnight but was surprised to see him already getting out of the car. Nell quickly grabbed her purse and scrambled out of her seat before he could make his way around to her door.

"You don't have to walk me all the way upstairs. It's three flights, I wouldn't—"

"Come on. If I'm going to do this relationship thing I'm going to at least attempt to do it right," he teased, offering his arm. Nell smiled again as she hooked her hand into the crook of his elbow.

"Thank you," she murmured when they reached her doorway, an inexplicable wave of shyness stealing her nerve. "I had a really good time tonight."

"We should do it again some time," Callen replied, letting his hand slip down her arm to entwine his fingers with hers.

"I'd like that." Nell didn't bother trying to keep the smile off her face.

"I should have picked different stakes for my end of the bet," he continued, taking a small step toward her. Nell's brow furrowed a bit in confusion, not anticipating his meaning.

"Why's that?"

"Could've made sure I would get to do this," he whispered, tilting his head downward to bring his lips to hers.

If their kiss at the bar had been a release of built-up tension, anxious and hungry, this kiss fell at the opposite end of the spectrum. Callen's lips moved gently, almost cautiously against Nell's, searching but patient in their exploration. And yet, it sent the same shocks of anticipation and longing through each of them as they'd felt the first time. Callen planted one more chaste kiss at the corner of her mouth before pulling away, another tendril of pride running through him when he heard her almost inaudible sigh.

"See you tomorrow," he breathed, squeezing her hand before reluctantly separating his hand from hers so she could open her door.

"Good night," Nell whispered, smiling as she turned her key in the lock.

Once inside, Nell leaned against the door. Dating (_no_, she thought to herself, _being in a relationship with_) G Callen was something she never saw coming. It was a little scary, but it had the potential to be a great adventure. She grinned and allowed herself one girlish twirl as she made her way down the hallway to her room.

She couldn't see Callen still outside, leaning against her doorframe, his thoughts mirroring her own. He smiled as he started back down the steps to his car.


	4. Balance

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: ** They weren't mine the last time I typed one of these. Nothing has changed since then.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: ** This was one of the first vignettes I wrote, back when the bunnies first attacked! Originally they were all supposed to this length. Ha. It's super-short-practically a drabble-but I think it's fun.

My thanks, as always, to Mel (aka **imahistorian**) for her suggestions, guidance, and strategic know-how. Also, a shout-out to **desnouer** for holding me accountable to my posting schedule! Finally, I posted this chapter at the same time as Ch. 3 (Adventurous), so if you haven't read that one be sure you check for it, too. Thanks as always for reading, and hope you enjoy this little short-but-hopefully-sweet installment! :)

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><p><strong>BALANCE<br>**For such a serious guy, G Callen is actually fairly laid-back. It takes a lot to ruffle him. Psychotic terrorists with guns pointed at his head? No big deal. Jumping (or being pushed) from a moving vehicle? These things happen. So it simultaneously amuses and confuses him to see Nell get so worked up about things that truly are not the end of the world.

"…and if I can't hack into their system without getting caught, we won't have access to their passcodes. Deeks and Kensi will be working blind, and I know they're good at it and all, but it's my job to make sure they have all the intel they need before they go into these operations, and—"

"Nell."

"—Eric can't do it all on his own. He's still trying to rebuild the servers and encrypt the rest of those secure files from when the mainframe got infected. He's completely swamped! And Hetty still wants me working on that project for Director Vance, but this isn't—"

"Nell."

"—one of those times when I can just drop everything or tell the field agents to buzz off or—"

"Nell!"

"WHAT?"

"Settle. Down."

She shakes her choppy tresses in confusion. "What?"

Callen takes her by the shoulders and gently steers her into a nearby chair before kneeling down to eye level. The LED lights and the artificial glow of the computer screens in the Ops center make his eyes shine even brighter blue than usual. She seems temporarily distracted but he reaches up to cup her cheeks in his hands anyway, just to make sure he's got her full attention. He chuckles a little as the terms "control freak" and "OCD" briefly flit through his mind, but he honestly doesn't like seeing the little worry lines between her eyebrows so he takes a deep breath and does his best to make her see reason.

"Kensi and Deeks will be fine. She once hotwired a Cessna, and what Deeks lacks in tech savvy he more than makes up for in B.S. abilities, so he'll just talk his way in. They'll work around it whether they have the passcodes or not. Eric is one of the best tech specialists in the western hemisphere-he'll have the computer rebuilt in no time. As for Hetty and Director Vance's secret project, if it was that big an emergency he'd have had his people in D.C. do it—they've got a whole department of hackers there."

He can see the wheels turning in her head and she at least gives the appearance of having cooled off a bit. He presses forward.

"What's the most urgent deadline you've got?"

"Probably the passcodes. They'll need those for tomorrow."

"Then focus on that. The rest will get done whenever it gets done." He drops a single kiss on the middle of her forehead before rising. Nell takes a deep breath and turns back to face her computer console.

_Okay, let's do this…_


	5. Strength

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER:** Seriously?

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: ** Thanks as always to my Beta, Idea Bouncer, and Deadline Enforcer **imahistorian **(aka Mel) for keeping me on track and reading my brain-thoughts comin' out. _Code_ is now officially my longest and most-reviewed fic, so THANK YOU to all who've been so kind to drop me a line! It is truly appreciated and I do a geeky little happy dance when they land in the Inbox. This chapter is a little more serious but I hope you'll still like it. Also, there's a little Densi moment in there for those who 'ship that, too. Let me know what you think!

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><p><strong>STRENGTH<strong>  
>The case had been an unusually emotional one. After several weeks of investigating a human trafficking ring involving children as young as six years old, the NCIS OSP team had been forced to cede jurisdiction to the FBI after it was determined that their original suspect (a navy lieutenant) had merely been in the wrong place at the wrong time and was cleared of any wrongdoing. The lack of involvement of any US Navy or Marine personnel meant OSP no longer had any legal right to continue the investigation. The team had grudgingly turned over all their surveillance footage, intelligence reports, and other necessary materials to the agency, saying a quick prayer that the FBI would handle the case well and end it all quickly.<p>

Instead, the investigation had been blown to hell, complete with death toll and bad press that made Ruby Ridge look like a minor training exercise. The NCIS team's information, documentation, and vehement recommendations had been ignored almost entirely. By the time the FBI team had stormed the traffickers' compound all but two of the children had been killed or were critically wounded.

Each member of the team reacted differently as news of the disaster was broadcast live on the big screen of the Ops center. Sam's face slipped into a mask of careful neutrality, though it didn't take a much deeper look to see the anger and pain simmering beneath. He'd quickly pulled out his cell phone and excused himself from the Ops center to make a phone call, presumably to his family. Kensi had headed straight for the gym to take out her anger, Deeks close on her six; swear words that would've made longshoremen blush echoed between strikes to the heavy bag. Eric sat down quietly at his computer, something between bewildered confusion and disbelieving sadness written on his face as he pulled up ZNN and several other news feeds and secure databases to try to figure out what had happened and determine if there was anything more he could do. Hetty returned to her office and immediately got on the phone to Quantico in what was likely to be a futile search for firm answers.

And Nell watched in silence as a dark shadow crossed Callen's face, his normal calm and control melting into thinly restrained fury. His voice was quiet when he spoke but she could see the tension building in his neck and shoulders.

"Nell, could I see you in the conference room?"

She gave Eric a quick squeeze on the shoulder as she followed Callen out of Ops and into a quiet conference area off the upstairs corridor. She closed the door quietly behind her and leaned against it, not entirely sure what to expect. Callen was on the opposite side of the room staring out a grimy, narrow window to the vacant lot below, muscles drawn tight while his strong hands clenched into fists at his side. After several interminably long minutes, he spoke.

"This should never have happened."

"No," she answered, fighting to keep her voice steady and strong. "It shouldn't have."

"They _knew_ this would go down badly. All the numbers we had, all of the surveillance and intel from our informants, they _knew_ these bastards were going to be heavily armed and they weren't going to go down without a fight. Why the hell would they think a SWAT assault would go off without casualties?"

"It doesn't make any sense."

"There were _kids_, Nell," he ground out. "Young kids. The girl they took away in the ambulance? She looked like she hadn't eaten in days, she could barely stand. And the damn FBI decided it was the best option to go storming in with tear gas and machine guns and flash pots, and it never occurred to them that these dirt-bags would get desperate and turn their weapons on their own hostages."

"I know," she whispered. She felt sick to her stomach with a rancid cocktail of anger, frustration, and overwhelming grief for the lives that had been cut short churning inside. And yet, there were no tears. Nell had always been analytical, constantly asking "why?", and with a situation as broken and messed-up as this was she wanted so badly to join Eric at her computer and start digging for information to try to figure out a reason—any reason—to give meaning to why this had happened. For as long as she could remember, answering the why's was what gave her solace and closure. But instead of retreating back to Ops she took a bracing breath and slowly crossed the room to stand behind Callen, her hand reaching up to rest lightly on his shoulder. He didn't say anything or turn to speak to her, but she felt him exhale heavily under her hand.

"We live in a war zone," he sighed. "And even though we have the best reconnaissance teams and the best soldiers, some asshole with a bunch of hardware pinned on his uniform gets to tell us we can't fight the battles." She squeezed his shoulder lightly, and one of his hands came up to cover hers. Without speaking, he turned their bodies so that he was sitting on the edge of the rickety conference table and pulled Nell forward to stand between his thighs. He dropped his head down to rest against hers, his eyes glazed and vacant as an unwinnable battle raged in his mind. Her eyes fell shut and her free hand drifted up to rest at the back of his neck, fingers grazing lightly up and down as she waited out the storm.

* * *

><p>Downstairs in her office Hetty placed her telephone back on its receiver and opened her laptop, pulling up the Mission's internal security cameras to check on the emotional state of her agents in the least obtrusive manner possible. Eric still sat in front of his monitor in Ops, scouring every report he could find. Sam had returned to his desk and was either praying or meditating, sitting with his eyes closed and his head resting on his stacked fists. Kensi and Deeks were no longer in the gym, but sitting alone in a hallway outside the locker rooms. Hetty glanced at the feed just in time to see Deeks reach across and link his fingers with Kensi's, pulling their joined hands over to rest in his lap as they both stared blankly at the wall in front of them. Kensi neither reacted nor pulled her hand away, and Hetty was quietly pleased that they trusted one another to let their walls down at such a difficult time, even if they weren't yet prepared to address the deeper currents running between them. She clicked to the next camera.<p>

In the conference room, standing perfectly still in each other's arms, were Callen and Nell. Hetty paused for a moment, watching as Callen's hands moved from resting at her waist to wrapping his arms completely around her and drawing her close. She could see the strain of the muscles in his arms as they tightened the embrace. Nell turned her head slightly, bringing her mouth next to his ear. Though she couldn't read the younger woman's lips over the grainy video feed, the gentleness with which she moved and the effect her words had on him would have been evident from any distance. Gradually Callen relaxed his grip, pulling back just far enough to look her in the face and say something to her in response. Satisfied that the two were more than capable of supporting one another in this hour of need, Hetty closed the video feed. She never saw Nell lift her head up to bring her lips to Callen's in a pure, comforting moment of contact, or the way his hands tangled in her hair as he drew her closer.

* * *

><p>As Nell stood in Callen's embrace she gradually felt the anger seep out of him as the storm of anger and raw emotion calmed to a shower of resigned regret. And, much to her own surprise, she realized that when he squeezed her close and gave her a kiss on the cheek before finally standing and releasing her from his arms, a bit of her own anger and grief had melted away, too. She slipped her slender fingers between his and made no move to pull them back until they reached the top of the staircase and parted ways for the remainder of the afternoon.<p>

They never spoke of it, but from that point on after particularly trying cases he would pull her into the conference room again. It was never about passion or secret liaisons; sometimes they never touched at all. Sometimes one would listen as the other blew off steam, and sometimes they would simply sit in silence until one or both of them had calmed down from whatever had unsettled them. They didn't discuss it, but those few quiet moments were sometimes the blessed calm eye in the middle of the storm around them. They both needed the time for different reasons, and over time they each grew a little stronger themselves by helping hold the other up.


	6. Resourcefulness

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: ***checks bank account* Nope, still not mine. Clearly.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **After the darker, more serious tone of the last chapter, we're back to something a little lighter and fluffier (and shorter). Thank you to ALL who left such lovely reviews on the last chapter—every single one of them made me smile! Special thanks, as always, to Mel (aka **imahistorian**) for all her guidance and encouragement. Also, she helped lure my reclusive plot bunnies out of hiding, so if you're a Nallen fan-and I assume you are if you're reading this fic-keep an eye out for a new one-shot later this week. And now, without further ado: "Resourcefulness."

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><p><strong>RESOURCEFULNESS<strong>

Callen eyes the armload of supplies Nell has brought to his door.

"You've gotta be kidding."

Her cheeky wink as she brushes past him tells him that, while she acknowledges the absurdity of the items in her arms, she is in fact entirely serious. Nell tosses a larger parcel to him and shifts another bag on her hip as she walks. The bright picture on the box in his hands is almost as alarming as the ridiculous description: _Fully Inflatable Queen Size Sofa Bed—Convenient and fun for all ages!_

"I thought since the weather isn't cooperating we could stay in tonight," she calls from the kitchen. "I brought a DVD player and the first Die Hard movie. And, since you don't have much in the way of home furnishings, I figured we might need a place to sit." Callen can hear her firing up the stove, though he can't imagine what on earth his red-headed tornado is doing with it since he doesn't exactly have a full line of cookware or groceries on hand. His curiosity gets the better of him as he follows her into the seldom-used space. She's managed to pull a six-pack of Sam Adams, two pans of Jiffy Pop, and some sort of Sara Lee frozen cream pie concoction out of her magic Mary Poppins bag—the same bag that apparently also contains a portable entertainment device, _Die Hard _(classic piece of guy cinema), and God only knows what else. She's already set to work on the Jiffy Pop, and even though it smells wonderful and the idea of an evening alone with Nell sounds damn appealing, he can't get over the inflatable sofa. It seems so… _un-Nell_, and yet at the same time it's 100% something that she would think up.

"Nell, where on earth did you get this thing?"

"That, ah, _might_ have been my living room furniture when I first moved to L.A. And my bed. At least until my first paycheck cleared."

"And you tease me about my bedroll?"

She arches an eyebrow. "The inflate-a-bed was, and is, temporary. I promise I'll take it home at the end of the night. Anyway, I think there's an electric pump for it in the bag there. You'd better get to work, G-Man."

He rolls his eyes in feigned annoyance at the nickname and steps closer behind Nell to set the package on the kitchen counter and wrap his arms around her waist. "Dare I even ask how you came up with this brilliant plan for our evening?"

"I told you: since the weather's so gloomy, I thought it might be nice to stay in. This-" she gestures, indicating the spread of supplies, "—was all stuff I already had at my apartment. Except for the popcorn."

"Clever girl," he murmurs, kissing lightly on her ear and desperately hoping to distract her from the insane couch idea long enough to craft a new plan.

"Usually," she grins. "But I know your tricks, and you're not getting out of it that easily." She plucks the air pump from the bag, turns in his arms, and drops the gadget into his unsuspecting hands. Nell rises up on her tip-toes, turning the tables by putting her mouth dangerously close to his ear and whispering in a voice she knows for fact gets his attention, "Play nice and maybe I'll let you distract me during the movie instead… after we have a cushy place to sit."

Without another word he takes the pump and the crazy, inflatable couch and heads for the living room. Her little invitation is all the incentive he needs.


	7. Adaptability

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: ** If only...

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** Thanks as always to those of you who have been so sweet to review and cheer me on! You guys make me smile every time! I promise to be more prompt in replying to reviews this week. As always, thanks to Mel, aka **imahistorian**, whose kind words and amazing writing constantly motivate me to do more. This chapter was (in a round-about way) her idea; she expressed a desire to see Nell and Callen doing something "normal" and this is where the bunnies led. It's fluffy but sweet. -) Hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>ADAPTABILITY<strong>  
>He fights valiantly (if unsuccessfully) to keep the look of skepticism off his face, but in the end his doubts win out.<p>

"What are you doing?"

"Making cookies."

"Yeah, I caught that. But did I really just watch you cover an Oreo in chocolate chip cookie dough?"

She sets a ball of dough on the counter and arches an eyebrow at him. "Don't knock it till you've tried it."

Callen sidles up next to her, leaning against the kitchen counter and crossing his arms over his chest. "So how does this work, exactly?"

Nell smiles as she picks up a Double-Stuf Oreo and a small ball of chocolate chip cookie dough. "First, you smush some cookie dough on the top. Then, you do the same thing to the bottom, only squish the dough all the way around the edges so the Oreo is completely covered. And then you bake them."

Callen picks up a ball of cookie dough and pops it into his mouth.

"Stop! I need that!"

He reaches for another one, but this time she manages to swat his hand away.

"I'll tell Sam. I'll tell him your cholesterol spiked and your doctor said you shouldn't be allowed to have any more junk food."

"He wouldn't believe you."

"Sure he would," she threatens. "I'll tell him you've been complaining of chest pains and that I hacked into your medical records because I was worried about you."

He narrows his eyes at her, arms still crossed, debating the credibility of this threat. Nell is unflinching, however, her hazel eyes holding his gaze even as slender fingers work the cookie dough in her hands.

"Fine," he concedes. "I'll leave it alone."

"Thank you," she replies sweetly, leaning up to kiss him on the cheek. "Besides, they're good. You'll like them. I promised Kensi I'd bring her a batch, but there should be plenty to go around."

Callen laughs in earnest at that. "Kensi put you up to this? I should've known—there's enough sugar here to put a horse into a diabetic coma. So, what happened? Bribery? Blackmail?"

"None of the above. Her birthday's this week, remember?"

"Ah. Right."

"You didn't remember, did you?"

"Nope."

"So, I should probably remind Sam and Deeks, too?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"I'll send them an e-mail tomorrow morning so she won't see it."

Callen watches her work till she finishes the batch, forehead creasing slightly in concentration even as her eyes sparkle with excitement. Sure enough, there's one lonely ball of cookie dough left on the pan—its partner consumed by an unknowing Callen—when she finishes sandwiching all the Oreos. She picks it up and moves to pop it into her mouth, but Callen intercepts her hand. He tries to drag her hand toward his lips to steal the morsel, but Nell sees it coming and plants her other hand over his mouth to block him.

"I'll make you a deal. You agree to try one of these cookies—_without_ making any more comments, verbal or otherwise—and I'll let you have the last piece of cookie dough."

Callen (mouth still covered) nods in agreement, amusement glinting in his blue eyes. Slowly, Nell lowers the hand covering his mouth and Callen pulls the hand holding the cookie dough back toward his lips. In the relative quiet of the kitchen he can hear her breath hitch when he pulls her fingers into his mouth, his tongue swirling around her fingertips to steal every last bit of sugary sweetness.

"Not bad," he murmurs as he finally releases her hand.

"You're such a dirty old man," she shoots back, rolling her eyes despite the slight tremor in her voice.

"You like older men."

"No, I like one particular older man. There's a difference."

They pass the time as the cookies bake making small talk and discussing recent cases. The smell of warm chocolate and sugar fills Nell's small apartment, and Callen can't quite get over how utterly domestic it feels. And while the thought alone sets off alarm bells, he's surprised to realize it doesn't actually unsettle him as much as he might have anticipated. He watches from his seat at the kitchen table as Nell pulls the tray of treats from the oven and sets the tray aside to cool. He can almost feel his arteries clogging at the thought of an Oreo inside a chocolate chip cookie, but she's honestly enthusiastic about it and it's hard not to get caught up in that energy. And besides, he promised her he'd at least give it a shot.

Nell swirls through the kitchen, rinsing bowls, retrieving plates and glasses, transferring cookies to a cooling rack, and pouring two glasses of icy cold milk. She can feel his eyes on her the whole time, but can't quite make out his expression just from peripheral vision. It's not until she leans across him to set down his glass that he turns his head and captures her lips in a kiss. It's brief and chaste, but for reasons she can't quite articulate it feels loaded somehow, as though the touch of lips should take the place of words. She smiles and tries to fight down the butterflies in her stomach as she brings a plate with four fresh cookies over to the table and takes a seat in the chair next to his.

"Okay, G, this is your big moment. Your life is about to change forever. Are you ready?"

"I thought I wasn't supposed to comment?"

"Then don't comment. Just eat."

Callen picks up one of the cookies, raises it in mock salute (at which Nell smirks and raises one eyebrow), and takes a bite. The chocolate chip cookie is still warm and slightly gooey, but then he hits the slight remaining crunchiness of the Oreo sandwiched in the middle and the unmistakable flavor of the cream filling. Yes, it's sugary and sweet, but it somehow works. He is eating a seriously delicious cookie. An expression of pleasant surprise settles onto his face and he looks up to find Nell's hazel eyes watching in eager anticipation.

"It's actually pretty good," he confesses. Her smile lights up the room as she takes a big bite of her own confection.

"I told you it would be," she mutters around the mouthful of cookie. "Sometimes it's okay to try new things, you know. You might find out you like something you never expected."

"Yeah," Callen muses, eyes glazing a bit as he watches her lick a bit of chocolate from the corner of her mouth. "Yeah, I'm starting to get that."


	8. Duty

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, I wouldn't be digging quarters out of my seat cushions for Starbucks, now would I?**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** This is one of my favorite chapters, though it's a departure in style from its predecessors-first-person Hetty POV. (Since this whole fic started out as a way to challenge myself, I figured why not switch up the "voices" every now and then?) It wasn't the easiest one to write, but I'm reasonably happy with how it turned out, so I hope you'll enjoy it, too.

Thanks as always to my amazing beta, **imahistorian** (aka Mel) for her expert guidance and for keeping me laughing. Congrats on passing your test! ) If you aren't already doing so, now would be a great time to start reading her brilliant multi-chapter **Truth Be Told**, as it's drawing to its very exciting conclusion! And last but not least, thank YOU for taking the time to read, favorite, alert, and review **Code**! I've been humbled and honestly overwhelmed by the positive response. Hope you enjoy "Duty"!

* * *

><p><strong>DUTY<strong>

I've been watching this relationship brew for several weeks now. It's a development that, I must admit, I hadn't anticipated. I do my best to look after the well-being of all my team members. Like a schoolteacher, I have been charged with the education, training, and care of these unique people, and like many teachers (though I know it's wrong to choose favorites) I cannot help but acknowledge a certain fondness for particular individuals. Mr. Callen and Miss Jones are two such cases. I feel a particular responsibility toward these two, although for very different reasons.

My relationship with Mr. Callen has been long and complicated. I've watched him grow up (albeit from a distance), seen the sort of man he's become, tried to guide him as best I could. It is both a relief and a challenge to observe him, day after day, and see the choices he makes. Some make me quite proud, while some are self-defeating to the point of driving me almost mad. At this phase in my life, he is quite possibly the closest thing I have to family.

As for Miss Jones, I must admit to seeing a certain amount of myself in her. Similarities in stature aside, she's focused, driven, perceptive, highly intelligent, and is already making a name for herself in the intelligence community at a comparatively young age. She seems to put her career first, and seems somewhat unconcerned with life outside our walls. She'll go far in this business if she has a mind to do so, though I sincerely hope that her life will follow a different path than my own. She is, after all, her own person.

Despite my fondness for both of them, I can't help but wonder at this odd-couple pairing. On the surface they seem to have such different personalities and temperaments, different life experiences, different goals. Perhaps it's devious of me (goodness knows I've been accused of worse), but I decide to try a little experiment. I'm curious to know their thoughts and motivations in this matter; it may give me a better idea how this will play out, which could be a useful thing to predict as it will affect the dynamic of my team no matter what the outcome. I see Mr. Callen walking past my office on the way back to his desk, so I decide to begin this experiment with him first.

"Mr. Callen, do you have a moment?"

He stops, looks up from the report he's scanning, and casually strolls over to take a seat in one of the chairs opposite my desk. Leaning back and meeting my gaze, he waits for me to begin.

"Mr. Callen, are you aware of the NCIS policies on fraternization in the workplace?"

I've put him on the defensive from the start. His eyes narrow slightly. "I am."

"In that case, is there anything I should know about your recent involvement with my Intelligence Analyst?" This time the cheeky bastard actually has the audacity to throw a smirk at me.

"No. Nothing at all."

"You're telling me that the two of you have not recently begun pursuing a relationship of a personal nature?"

"I'm telling you that there's nothing you need to know about it. Nothing in the NCIS Code of Professional Conduct forbids field agents and internal staff, like analysts, from fraternizing."

"You checked the policy?"

"Nell did."

"And what exactly are your intentions toward Miss Jones?" His eyebrows shoot halfway up his forehead at that one, a note of disbelief creeping into his voice.

"Are you serious? Isn't that something her father should ask me? Or her brothers?"

"She IS family, Mr. Callen. As are you. I'm merely looking after the best interests of my team."

"And you don't think it's in my best interest or Nell's to pursue a relationship of a personal nature with one another."

"I'm asking you to consider your motives carefully. The difference in age between the two of you, not to mention your collective disparate life experiences, is not insignificant."

"This is about our age difference?"

"Not at all. This is about one or both of you wanting something the other is unable, or at least unwilling, to provide."

The light of mistaken comprehension dawns on his face, followed swiftly by the beginnings of righteous anger. "You think I'm using her. You think I'm leading her on. It's all well and good as long as it's convenient, but you think as soon as things get serious I'm going to drop her."

"I think it's possible you have different expectations for where this may lead, and I don't want to see either of you hurt if this ends badly between you. While I can't forbid the relationship itself, I can warn you to proceed with caution, Mr. Callen. I would never wish the heartbreak of love disappointed on either of you, but if it does happen you do realize that you'll still be working together, seeing one another on a daily basis? I know enough of your histories to know that such a situation could be intensely painful for you both, and I couldn't dismiss or transfer either of you. You're far too valuable."

"We're not walking down the aisle, Hetty. We're just spending time together, enjoying each other's company."

"And just how do you think all that walking down the aisle starts?"

He exhales heavily, temporarily without a suitable answer. "I'm going to give you the benefit of a doubt on this and assume you're doing this out of some kind of bizarre sense of professional duty instead of interfering in the lives of two consenting adults."

"As I said, I'd be a shoddy Operations Manager indeed if I failed to look after the mental and emotional well-being of my staff."

"Then I would think you'd be happy for both of us," he counters. "Doing this job means that if any of us-me, Kensi, Deeks, Eric, any of us-want to pursue a relationship with someone outside the business, we can't tell them what we do, who we work with. Hell, Sam's married and his wife doesn't even know where he works. Even if we could tell them, a civilian or an outsider couldn't possibly understand it and we'd constantly be putting them at risk by their association with us if our identities were ever compromised. But Nell gets it. She knows exactly what I do, and I don't have to keep a cover straight or lie or check myself all the time. Neither does she. And yeah, I like her. I like her a lot. She's funny and beautiful and kind, and damn good at her job and so smart it's scary. I like her and I'm not going to end it before anything has a chance to happen just because you're worried about a 'what-if'."

So wrapped-up in his speech was Mr. Callen that he didn't sense the approach of the young woman now standing behind him.

"He shouldn't have to," she interjects. At the sound of her voice, his head snaps around so quickly that I'm rather surprised his neck doesn't pop. I can't see Mr. Callen's face now that it's turned away from me, but a flurry of thoughts and emotions are flying across Nell's. Even though she speaks to me, her eyes stay locked on his. "There's nothing in the NCIS employee conduct guidelines that prohibits field agents and other staff members from being involved outside the office."

"Have a seat, Miss Jones," I reply, attempting (rather poorly, I imagine) to conceal a smile.

In the space of the barely five steps it takes her to move from her post outside my office to being seated in the chair next to Mr. Callen's, she seems to have settled on one emotion out of the many she'd been wrestling: anger. Though she's doing a good job of hiding it. Her face is the picture of composure, but I can see fire sparking in her eyes.

"What is this about, Hetty?" she questions without preamble.

"Miss Jones," I begin carefully, "Mr. Callen and I were discussing the possible consequences and repercussions that could occur on a professional level if a personal relationship between the two of you were to end unhappily."

"I see. And what conclusions did you reach?"

"None, as of yet. If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Callen was approximately three seconds away from telling me where I could stick my opinions on the matter, on the grounds that it's none of my damn business."

"He's a very intelligent man."

I cast a quick glance to the side and confirm the smirk forming on his face. No one ever accused Miss Jones of a lack of nerve, a quality I'm sure Mr. Callen can admire.

I regard them silently for a moment. What started as an experiment to try to discern their motives and feelings for one another has proven very enlightening indeed, and though I still couldn't pretend to predict what the final result of their budding relationship might be I must admit to feeling a little more at ease. He stood up for her and stood up for their involvement together. She had no qualms whatsoever in taking me down a peg in order to back him up. Fascinating. If they're already willing to defend one another and their relationship so vehemently, perhaps there really could be more to this than I'd anticipated. But then, the best way to unite people is to give them a common enemy. I might be doing them a favor in drawing them closer, but then again I certainly don't need either of them as an adversary. Perhaps it's time to let them off the hook a bit.

"Then in that case, it seems there's nothing more I can say to you except this: be good to one another. For your own sakes. Romantic entanglements with coworkers will by nature create unique problems of their own. And understand me now: if you bring relationship drama into this building, I will personally hunt down both of you with a dull machete and a salt shaker. Are we clear?"

"Crystal," Mr. Callen replies. He rises to leave, casting me look that I've seen before: he knows he's not getting the whole story, but appears to have decided to let it go for the time being. He glances over at Miss Jones, offering her look that I assume translates into _come talk to me later_. Nell gives him a half smile as he goes but remains seated, watching me appraisingly. As soon as Mr. Callen is out of earshot she speaks.

"Why do I suddenly have the feeling that Callen and I just took some sort of quiz?"

I can't help but smile now. "Because you are a highly perceptive individual, Miss Jones."

"So why the test?"

"I couldn't, in good conscience, let something with the power to disrupt the entire dynamic of my team carry on without investigating it somehow. It was a very enlightening conversation."

"I'm sure it was," she mutters, but the anger has seeped out of her voice, replaced with a more benign form of befuddled frustration. She stands to leave but stops just before walking out the door. Turning to face me, she speaks quietly. "He's a good man, you know. He might have baggage but he's strong and he's brave and I think he really cares about me, and I would never knowingly want to do anything to hurt him."

"I believe you, Miss Jones. Now, get back upstairs. You've got work to do, and if Mr. Beale thinks you've gone missing in action I wouldn't put it past him to phone the search and rescue team."

She turns again and heads in the direction of the stairs, leaving me once more alone with my thoughts. It may be foolish to wish for such things, but a part of me sincerely hopes that they will be able to create some form of happiness together. I've made many mistakes in my career, but one for which I hope never to be accused is the failure to act in the best interests of my team. I can only hope and send up a fleeting prayer to whomever might be listening that, if this does indeed make them happy, they will have the strength to maintain it.


	9. Self Control

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: 1) I own the characters and the show. 2) I'm making a boatload of money off of writing this thing. 3) I occasionally make statements that are factually inaccurate. (Only one of those items is true. You get three guesses as to which...) **

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **This one is shorter, but it's one of my favorites. It's a little steamy/sexy (the steamiest thing I've written to date, actually), but there's nothing graphic or M-rated. Also, I listened to Kelly Clarkson's "Addicted" on repeat while writing it, so feel free to do the same. Side Note: This installment shows Kensi & Deeks being in an established physical relationship, even though this won't be the case later in the timeline. I wrote these segments out of order and decided I wanted K&D not-together later on, so please forgive the inconsistency; I just REALLY liked the way this one played out and didn't want to change it, and I figure since it's not a Densi-centric story it won't ruin any future plot points.

Thank you, as always, to everyone who has read, reviewed, favorited, alerted, and generally been supportive of this fic. I can't say how grateful I am for every little bit of encouragement! Thanks also to the incomparable Mel (**imahistorian**) who has made me a better writer and talked me down from the metaphorical ledge more times than I can count. She's about to post the beautiful conclusion to her own masterpiece **Truth Be Told**, so if you're not already doing so you should read that, too. Hope you enjoy Self Control!

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><p><strong>SELF CONTROL<strong>  
>It starts with the pull, the physical need, from "<em>just a little"<em> to _"just a little more,"_ and will certainly end in their complete destruction.

It's been said that once you're addicted, you're an addict for life. _There's no such thing as a former drug addict, only a recovering one. _This should scare her more than it does. She's always been prone to obsessive tendencies, but these days all it takes is a hint, the suggestion of the idea even without the presence of the stimulant, and suddenly she can think of nothing else.

Funny thing is, she can't even bring herself to care. She doesn't care when she gets lightheaded from her own refusal to break their kisses, and she doesn't care when she finds fingertip bruises on her hips, and she doesn't even care when she has to find ways to hide bite marks on her neck and breasts and shoulders the morning after. She doesn't care about leaving tracks of her own, either—she's the only one who'll see the bruises above his tailbone and the scratches down his back, anyway. The high was incredible, and _God_, was it worth it.

_At first he's alarmed, afraid he's hurt her, when he notices the purplish marks blooming under her translucent skin. __At first, she's horrified that her nails dug in sharply enough to leave visible marks, however involuntary the action was at the time. __Fingers ghost over evidence of their crimes, gentle and uncertain. __Lips follow hands in apology and absolution. __The smoke has barely cleared when new sparks begin to crackle to life, but this time it's a slow burn rather than unchecked destruction. _

In the beginning, before the initial blaze got so far out of control, it didn't take much to get a fix—a glance, a smile, accidental or incidental contact. But the Law of Diminishing Returns is a bitch. What used to quench now only adds fuel to the fire, and nothing less than being totally consumed in the flames will extinguish the need.

Even in the aftermath, hot spots can reignite. The cravings never stay gone for long.

* * *

><p>Some days it's easier to ignore. Stressful cases and deadlines can distract. Injury or illness can postpone. But temporary distractions never eliminate the need.<p>

The biggest indicator that she's moved from strong cravings to true dependence is that it starts interfering with her ability to function. They start planning their days around how to get their next high, their next hit. Text messages mid-day, a knock on the door late at night, hushed phone calls, rushed and frantic encounters.

A conveniently timed lunch break.

"_We have to stop. __We… we have to…"_

"_Ten more minutes."_

"_The others will… if we're not—ohhh—back on time it could…"_

"_Let me finish what I started."_

_Lips leave a trail of heat down her belly and all coherent thought is wiped from her mind. __Fingers burn, mouths sear, and kisses scald as this addiction is fueled, conquered, and rekindled again. __When she returns to the Mission half an hour later she can still hear her pulse pounding in her ears and smell traces of his cologne in her hair. _

_It's never enough. __She'll need another hit, if not tonight then tomorrow or the next night for sure. __Maybe she will never get enough._

* * *

><p>The need increases with each high, and it IS a need. The release of chemicals within the body—hormones and endorphins and adrenaline—and the resulting physical sensations are real and addicting. But then there are the withdrawals, the almost physical pain of a need unfulfilled that leaves them both twitchy, irritable, hungry. Desperate.<p>

It's an illness. She can't talk herself out of the flu, and she can't talk herself out of this. Everyone around them can see the symptoms even if they can't diagnose the disease. But no one is fooled. That's probably a good thing.

_She can't decide who's worse off: herself, or Kensi. __They're both in pretty bad shape. __Callen and Deeks have been on a deep cover operation for almost four weeks. __No phone calls, no visits, no personal contact. __The two women haven't discussed it, but they know. They can read each other's faces-the worry, exhaustion, frustration, the selfish need for something no one but the missing men can provide. __Conversation would be redundant.__ But they know. __It's a silent sort of camaraderie bred in common suffering. __Withdrawals are hell, no matter what the addiction._

_When Deeks and Callen drag themselves through the back door of the Mission unannounced late on a Thursday night, the greetings exchanged within the group are careful and measured. __Professional. Polite hugs and friendly smiles, but no more. __By now every player knows exactly what cards the others hold, but announcing it wouldn't change the game anyway. __A remarkable level of self-control is demonstrated by all present.__ Knowledge without acknowledgment. It's their own twisted version of 'don't ask, don't tell.' _

_Four cars leave the parking lot. __Two cars each arrive at two different apartments. __Doors are slammed shut, furniture is knocked over, buttons are torn off, and clothing is forgotten where it lands._

_Control is now the last thing on anyone's mind._

* * *

><p>The symptoms and the disease. The rush, the high, the relief. The crash, the craving, the need that intensifies with every passing week. Sometimes it's days, sometimes only a matter of hours, and the cycle starts all over again. Somehow this one, single, previously inconsequential area of her life has spun completely out of her control. And she doesn't care. She just can't bring herself to care, because when she looks across rumpled sheets and discarded pillows at clear blue eyes, she sees a man just as lost in this addiction as she is. When he holds her close, traces her freckles, kisses her cheeks and eyes as she drifts to sleep, whispers words she never thought she'd hear, she thinks to herself that this particular brand of co-dependency may be the best thing that's ever happened to her.<p>

She hopes to God she never recovers.


	10. Stress Management

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER:** **What part of "no" don't you understand?**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: ** Thanks as always to Mel (aka **imahistorian**) for her expert guidance, for being the best cheering section ever, and for never judging me when I abuse the caps lock key in text messages because I'm fangirling too hard. Thanks also to EVERYONE who has read, reviewed, alerted, and favorited. I continue to be humbled by the amazing response! This week's installment was fun to write, so I hope you have fun reading it. Enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>STRESS MANAGEMENT<br>**When the power flickered and then clicked off completely, plunging the entire Mission into darkness for the second time that morning, the barely-muffled screams of rage from the Ops center could be heard in the next zip code.

"SON OF A—"

"WHY IS THIS HAPPENING? IS THIS REAL LIFE?"

"And where the hell are the EFFING BACK-UP GENERATORS?"

Downstairs in the bullpen, four agents pulled out their cell phones for light and glanced anxiously across their desks at one another in the bluish glow. Eventually, Deeks broke the silence with a nervous whisper.

"Good God, was that Nell?"

Kensi nodded morosely. "She and Eric are both pretty strung-out. They've been transferring and backing-up secure files for days, trying to get them stored on the new server. The problem is, the files are huge and they're taking forever to load. So every time the power cuts out…"

"They have to start over again," Sam sighed. "Great timing for rolling black-outs."

At that moment a loud _click_ was heard, the overhead lights flicked once, and the power died again. Two primal screams and a sound strangely like that of a heavy object being hurled against a wall were heard from upstairs.

This time Deeks shook his head in amazement. "How can someone so tiny make that much noise? She's always so quiet."

"Not always," Callen chuckled. Upon realizing the room had gone completely silent around him, he glanced up from his paperwork. His teammates stared back at him in various states of disbelief and discomfort. "What?"

"I so didn't need to know that."

"Yeah, me either," Kensi grumbled.

"Over-share, G."

"What?"

"Come on, man. She's like our little sister," Sam clarified.

"Yeah, none of us want to think about you two…" Deeks trailed off, made a vague gesture between Callen's desk and Ops, and gave an exaggerated shudder of disgust.

"Wait a second, you actually thought I was talking about—"

"Please don't finish that sentence," Kensi begged.

Callen snorted and shook his head. "You guys have filthy minds. I wouldn't tell you about that even if you asked."

"Well, none of us did," Deeks interjected. "And we never will. EVER. So can we please change the subject?"

Callen laughed loudly as the lights snapped back on and a fresh stream of swear-words drifted downstairs.

_The previous weekend…_

"Faster! FASTER! NO, NOT THAT WAY, YOU IDIOT! How can you-? AAAAHHH!"

Nell collapsed backwards onto her sofa, nearly overturning the bowl of popcorn sitting between them. Callen bit back a laugh and shifted his body to face her. He'd never figured Nell for a sports nut, much less the type to completely lose her cool over a football game (especially in the regular season).

"You know they can't hear you, right?"

"Can it, Mister," she growled. "I've seen you and Sam watching the Lakers, remember?"

He held his hands up in front of him in a gesture of surrender. She grumbled something under her breath before settling back against him and flicking a couple of puffs of popcorn into her mouth. Callen chuckled quietly.

"What are you laughing at?" she groused.

"You," he replied.

She cut him an unamused glare.

"I just never figured you for a football fan, much less a very vocal one."

"I grew up with brothers," she shrugged. "It was learn to love football, or watch nothing at all for a significant part of the year."

When her team's wide receiver finally barreled into the end zone three plays later, she popped up off the couch with a shout of victory.

"YES! THANK YOU! It's about time! WOOO!"

The wall behind the T.V. rattled, and a muffled "Hey!" could be heard from the apartment next door.

"Sorry, Mr. Yang," Nell called. She sheepishly sat back down on the sofa. "I'll try to keep it down."

Her promise of quiet lasted through exactly one commercial break until the opposing team managed to run back an 80-yard punt return and score, once again stealing the lead. Nell screamed a word Callen had never before heard her use and Mr. Yang from next door pounded on the adjoining wall.

It was going to be a long game. Good thing Callen had something entertaining to watch.


	11. Respect

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: *sigh***

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **Thank you to everyone who has taken time to send such lovely reviews! I'm really very grateful for every one of them. Reviews are like crack for writers, so I thank you for supporting and enabling my habit. Heh heh.

Special thanks to Mel (aka **imahistorian**) for the VERY last minute read-through when I did some eleventh-hour tweaking. She's the best-est! Without her, I would no doubt have thrown my laptop through the window and run screaming into the night months ago...

This week's installment is a bit longer and is basically a big chunk of Nell back-story/head-canon. We know comparatively little about her, so it was fun to try to get into her head and try to find out what makes her tick. I'd be curious to hear your thoughts if you're so inclined. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>RESPECT<strong>  
><em>"She's okay. For a girl."<em>

The first time her oldest brother, Robert, had said that to a group of boys from their neighborhood to convince them to let Nell join in their army game, Nell had swelled with pride. She idolized Robbie, and for him to stick up for her in front of his friends was a badge of honor. It wasn't until she got stuck playing nurse again (a role she hated) while the boys played soldiers that she began to wonder if maybe being okay _for a girl_ wasn't quite the compliment she'd first made it out to be.

Being a middle kid in a family of boys, Nell developed a pretty thick skin. She got used to the pushing and shoving and name-calling and horseplay—not that she particularly enjoyed those things, but she figured out how to avoid it when possible and suck it up and deal when it wasn't. After all, showing weakness in front of boys (especially older brothers) was out of the question. One thing she actually enjoyed, however, was a good argument. What her brothers might have had to their advantage in height, build, age, and muscle, Nell more than compensated for in brains and nerve. She learned to fight with her thoughts and words instead of her fists, and she learned the importance of strategy and timing. (To this day, none of her brothers can figure out how she managed to collect twice as much candy at Halloween every year, and they _still_ can't figure out where she stashed it all so that they couldn't raid her supply.) A quick mind, a sharp tongue, and a good plan (even if it involved the occasional bending of rules) were valuable commodities, and they served her well. Until junior high.

"_You think you're so much better than everyone else." _

In the harshly skewed microcosm of society that is the average junior high school, brains and words are no match against the value of good looks and athleticism. In fact, Nell's brains became a liability. The honors classes, academic accolades, and overachiever tendencies her parents and teachers so valued were openly mocked; every right answer earned a muttered dig or a caustic laugh from the cheap seats. Good grades and witty retorts earned her none of the grudging respect her brothers gave at home. Instead, she reaped only the scorn and derision she'd worked so hard to avoid. So rather than taking pride and comfort in her knowledge and abilities, she retreated. Though she never played dumb or let her standards drop Nell learned to keep her mouth firmly shut, lest she be accused of being a goody-two-shoes or a teacher's pet. She learned that arguing got her nowhere and she was better off keeping her nose down and her ears open. Much safer that way.

Fortunately high school was a different world. Discovering Debate Team and all those Advanced Placement classes seemed like discovering a world where she actually fit in. Her argumentative streak was encouraged and channeled into a useful tool; her already impressive mind was given room to expand as she learned not only how to gather facts but how to transform them into something useful. She was welcomed, challenged, accepted. Her confidence grew, and her new, more ambitious outlook on life along with it. She even started getting attention from guys and dating a bit.

"_I wouldn't expect you to understand. After all, you're still so young."_

When her father said it to her, she'd always been more disappointed than angry. It always felt as if she'd let him down in some way, and it always motivated her to work that much harder to prove herself. But when her first serious college boyfriend had said it to her, she wasn't sure whether to be amused or just plain insulted. Brandon was only three years older, and while he might technically have been pre-med he was also a fifth year senior with mediocre grades and not fooling anyone, really. Nell, by contrast, carried an obscenely high GPA in a very difficult double-major and had been accepted to no fewer than three prestigious internships for her summer coursework. _Plenty_ of people were ready to take her seriously. The relationship hadn't lasted long after his thoughtless comment. Nell had been overlooked and underestimated enough times in her life that she reasoned she shouldn't have to deal with that from a boyfriend—from someone who, according to the fairy tales, was supposed to accept her just as she was.

Her job at NCIS changed her world again. Though her personality quirks, insecurities, and subsequent overcompensation caused some tension in the beginning, Nell was thrilled to once again find herself in a place that allowed her to shine while still teaching her something new and providing new challenges and tests every single day. She had a brilliant partner, uniquely gifted coworkers, and a boss (one of the most notorious figures in the intelligence game) who had come to fully accept Nell Jones as part of her team. That she got to do something she loved, something she was good at, and something she felt passionate about on a daily basis truly excited her.

The first time she really knew the field agents trusted her was shortly after her verbal takedown of Captain Jennings during the Venezuelan case. It was hardly her fault Jennings hadn't done his research, and yet as soon as the words were out of her mouth she couldn't help but feel she might have overstepped her limits just a bit. As much as she loved her new job (and felt her coworkers were beginning to accept her in return) she _was _still the new person, the low man on the proverbial totem pole, and it might not have been advisable to speak so bluntly to a respected military official.

"_Am I in trouble?"_

"_No. But next time, pick on someone your own size."_

He'd shot her that Look, the patented Callen smirk as he'd said it, and the gentle admonishment actually felt like a compliment instead. _Pick on someone your own size._ He trusted her to do the work and he trusted her results. It didn't matter that she was a girl, or young, or small, or not a field agent, or not in the military. She knew her stuff—better than the older guy in the uniform—and Callen recognized it.

He respected her. Nell felt just a little bit taller when she realized that.

And even though it happened before any of the flirtation or dating or relationship ever started, the respect never left. When they started dating, she saw it in new ways. She saw it every time he asked her a question, even something not work-related, and accepted her answer. She saw it in the way his eyes watched her instead of the leggy blondes that seemed to be everywhere in L.A. She saw it in little ways every time he opened a door for her, but she also saw it whenever he let her make a crucial decision, like when they would _finally _let themselves get physically involved, and didn't argue or question or sulk about it. It wasn't a feeling she was used to from men, especially men who were older than her, but she found herself getting used to it very quickly.

"_She's pretty damn hot for an intern. Girl like that can investigate me any time she wants."_

Nell had just left the interrogation room of the boat shed when she heard the witness's comment through the TV audio feed in the main room. Sam and Callen were interviewing a real winner by the name of Chad Loman while Kensi and Deeks observed and relayed info to Eric and Hetty back at the Mission. Nell had only stepped into the room for a moment to hand Sam a hard copy of some photos they'd needed, but even in the short space of time she'd been in there the Loman's lecherous stare had unnerved her just a bit. When he spoke the ill-advised words, Nell froze in her spot while Deeks cringed and Kensi drew in a sharp gasp of surprise.

"Well. That's awkward," Nell muttered, shifting uncomfortably, but a slow, cat-like smile spread across Kensi's face.

"Oh, this is gonna be good."

Puzzled, Nell turned to face the monitor. Through the closed-circuit feed she could see Loman slouched in his chair, arrogantly placid as ever. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like Sam and Callen were calm, too, except that Sam's face had gone carefully neutral, his eyes trained not on the dirtbag in front of him but casting a cautious glance at his partner standing next to him. Callen's posture hadn't changed from where he was leaning on the table, but Nell could see a cord of muscles twitch in the back of his neck and the icy stare he fixed on Loman. And yet, the idiot continued to run his mouth, apparently oblivious to the palpable tension in the room.

"I mean, please tell me one of you guys has gotten a piece of that, because _man_, what I wouldn't give for five minutes alone…"

A shudder of embarrassment and even a little bit of fear ran down her spine. Everything about this creep oozed violence and deceit, and the thought of being alone with such a man left her wishing fervently for a can of pepper spray, a taser, and a nice, spiky pair of stiletto heels. Deeks frowned and glanced carefully at Nell, silently gauging her reaction. Kensi, however, didn't seem the least bit fazed. If anything she seemed to be getting a little too much entertainment out of the exchange, and even leaned forward a bit when Callen slowly stood to his full height and began pacing a slow circle around the room. Neither Sam nor Callen had acknowledged Loman's distasteful monologue, but the man kept rambling.

"L.A.'s a great place for beautiful women and all, but your girl there just _looks_ younger, you know? The young ones are so much fun. They're so fiery. Do you know if she's single? I bet she could just—"

Loman never got to finish the sentence. In his circle around the room, Callen had stopped directly behind Loman's chair and in one swift movement kicked the man's chair out from under him leaving Loman on his back with the wind knocked out of him and Callen's boot at his throat. When Callen finally spoke, his voice was little more than a low growl.

"I suggest you stick answering the questions _we_ are asking _you_. Are we clear?"

"Geez, man," Loman wheezed. "Sorry, I didn't know she was your girl or whatever."

"That 'girl,'" Sam interjected, "is probably the one who's going to find the dirt we use to lock you and your sorry-ass friends away for a long, long time."

"She can dig up information you forgot existed and details you never even knew," Callen continued, applying a little more pressure with the heel of his boot. "And she can either see that your little visit here with us today stays private, or she can make sure every drug dealer from here to Baja knows you squealed before your feet ever hit the pavement outside."

"Okay, I get it! Damn!"

"I don't think you do." The coldness in Callen's whisper carried more menace than even his words or threatening posture managed to convey. "I'm not going to crush you right now, but that's because there are witnesses and video cameras. Once your ass hits the streets again, you have no protection. And it's our decision when and under what circumstances that will happen. Or rather, it'll be _her_ decision. So now would be a good time to start talking about the case and trying to make nice, because it would be a real shame if news of you turning snitch was to be publicized in the industry."

Loman gulped visibly, nodded, and didn't make a move to stand until Callen lifted his foot from the man's throat. When Kensi turned to see the reaction on Nell's face, she almost laughed—Nell was standing stock-still, eyes wide as saucers with one hand over her mouth and the other grasping the hem of her sweater.

"Nell? You okay?"

Nell nodded silently, barely containing her laughter as she turned to meet the other woman's gaze. "I can't believe he said all that."

Deeks shrugged. "Did you really think they were going to let the guy slide?"

"I guess I've just never had a man defend my virtue that way."

Kensi's grin turned conspiratorial. "Virtue, I'm not so sure about. Don't think I didn't see that hickey on the back of your neck last week." Nell flushed scarlet and opened her mouth to argue, but Kensi cut her off. "But, what I AM sure about is that both of those guys—all of us—respect you way too much to let some slime-ball like Loman talk shit about you. And I'm also pretty sure that if it weren't for video cameras and Sam being in the room, Loman would be black and blue and limping his way out of here. No way was Callen going to let him get away with that."

Nell watched the video feed in silence for a moment before Kensi's quiet voice interrupted her thoughts once more.

"Kind of nice, isn't it? Knowing someone's watching your back."

"Yeah," Nell whispered. "Yeah, it kind of is."

She didn't quit smiling for the rest of the afternoon.


	12. Loyalty

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: Maybe if I'd won the $640mil lottery this weekend, but alas...**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **I can't believe this story-something that started out as a writing challenge/experiment just for myself-is now up to 12 chapters and over 150 reviews! I'm amazed an humbled by the wonderful feedback, alerts, and favorites that continue to pop into my Inbox. Thank you guys so, so much for all your support and encouragement, and for continuing to stick with it. It's been a blast to write! Long live the good ship Nallen!

This chapter is a bit more serious: "the big fight." As much as I love to write the fluff, I couldn't let them get off TOO easy. It was a tough one to write, but I'm reasonably pleased with how it turned out, so as always I'd be curious to hear your thoughts. Thanks as always to the inimitable **imahistorian **(aka Mel), who has a gorgeous new Kensi-centric fanvid up on YouTube that you really should see (her ID over there is PaduaGallifrey)! She really is the most ridiculously talented beta and best-est friend a girl could ask for. Thanks again for all the lovely feedback, and hope you enjoy this week's installment, **Loyalty**.

* * *

><p><strong>LOYALTY<strong>

Sam could tell before he was two steps in the door that it was going to be a long morning. Nell was sitting so ramrod straight at her work station that he briefly wondered if she was wearing a back brace, and when the doors swished open, announcing his presence, her only reaction to his arrival had been an irate look tossed over one shoulder.

"Hey guys," he greeted.

No response. Nell might have even rolled her eyes a little.

_That's weird._

Eric glanced up from his work station and gave Sam a desperate, miserable look. Nell didn't get into this kind of mood very often at all and he honestly wasn't sure about how to manage it, so Eric had apparently decided to treat the Ops center like a war zone: stay low, keep quiet, and try not to get shot. It wasn't until Sam spoke, however, that either man got any clear indication of what the problem might be.

"Hey Nell, could I have a look at the Carmichael file for a second? I just want to double-check something."

"Check what? I already sent you the vitals."

"The lieutenant's address isn't coming up in the GPS. I already checked it against mine twice, so I thought…"

Her chair swiveled around to face him, and he suddenly wished he'd waited until she took a lunch break. "Thought I got it wrong? Or that I was lying to you? Or you just don't trust my information?"

_There is no right answer to that question. _"You know, I'm probably just not awake yet. I'm going to go downstairs and check that again."

Her only reply was the squeaking of her chair as she turned back to face her monitor.

Downstairs, however, was no improvement. If it was possible for body language alone to scream, G Callen's would have lost its voice shouting "_don't talk to me and leave me the hell alone_." He was slumped low in his chair, scowling at his paperwork and steadfastly ignoring the small talk his teammates were making around him. Sam shook his head as he took a seat at his desk.

About ten minutes later, Eric slinked quietly down the stairs and through the room, doing his best not to draw attention to himself. As he reached the small table where the coffee machine was located, Sam sidled up next to him.

"Eric," Sam greeted quietly.

"Agent Hanna."

"How's the, er, _weather_ up in Ops today? It seemed a little chilly when I was up there," Sam commented, shooting Eric a loaded glance as he said it. Eric might have laughed if he weren't so busy actively fearing for his life when got back upstairs.

"It's been frigid, with a 98% chance of storms," he replied. "EXTREMELY unpleasant, which is, um, unusual."

"I was afraid of that." Sam glanced across the room and caught Deeks' attention, giving the detective a single nod of confirmation. Deeks shook his head knowingly.

"You guys, too?" Eric asked.

"Around here we're less concerned with the weather and more worried about a seismic event. Earthquakes. Volcanic eruptions. You know."

Eric cringed in acknowledgment.

"So," Sam continued, "any ideas what the fight was about?"

"No clue. Except Nell just about bit my head off. She accused me of questioning her or not trusting her judgment or something like that, kind of like what she said to you."

"Ooooh. Not good."

"What?"

"If the fight was something about trust, we're in big trouble. When it comes to trusting people, Callen has more issues than _People_ magazine. Maybe she said or did something and he took it the wrong way?"

"Nell can be stubborn," Eric nodded, adding a car onto Sam's train of thought. "If she thinks she hasn't done anything wrong, she's not going to let it go or back off of it."

"Figures."

"So what are we going to do about it?"

"Desperate times call for desperate measures. Is Hetty around anywhere?"

"Nope," Eric replied. "She had to go to the San Diego office for a meeting. Why?"

"We're solving this P.O.W. style," Sam answered.

"What's P.O.W. style?"

"In twenty minutes, tell Nell that Director Vance needs to talk to her, and that the call is being rerouted to the conference room for privacy. Kensi will fake a phone call on our end and I'll take Callen up there. Then I'll lock them in the conference room together until they both decide to play nice with the other children."

"That's crazy."

"You got any better ideas?" Sam grumbled, casting a concerned look toward the team leader.

"Fine. Okay, twenty minutes?"

"Twenty minutes. Go."

Twenty minutes later, Nell's head popped up in surprise when Sam and Callen walked into the tiny conference room. Callen stiffened immediately.

"What's going on here?"

"I was gonna ask you guys the same question," Sam replied. "Now look, I don't know what the problem is between the two of you, but it's gotta stop. Hetty will be back later this afternoon and if she sees this crap happening at work, she'll skin you both. You've got—" he checked his watch, "-two hours to shut up, make up, or break up." Sam watched the couple in question as they avoided eye contact with one another. Nell's jaw was clenched tight, and by all appearances the paint job on the room's walls was the most fascinating thing Callen had seen all week. Sam shook his head at them.

"Come out when you think you can behave," Sam warned before leaving them alone and pulling the door shut with a click behind him.

For several long minutes neither spoke. Eventually Nell broke the silence.

"We're going to have to deal with this sooner or later, so we may as well do it now."

"Fine."

"Do you want to start? Or should I?"

"You should," he growled. "Especially since you never answered me last night."

"Could you repeat the question?" she responded, her voice a mask of calm professionalism.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Callen demanded, his own voice rising fractionally.

"I didn't think it was going to be a problem! This could be a big deal for my career. I thought you'd be excited for me."

"You don't think a little heads-up might have been nice before you agreed to it? 'Oh, by the way, Homeland Security has asked me to consult on side-project that would pull me away from NCIS for eight to twelve weeks, completely out of contact at a secure location on the other side of the country, and it just so happens that I'll be working with my last ex, and oh, by the way, I'm leaving in a week'?"

"Stephen's in a different department, there's about a 2% chance I'd ever even see him see him. If you think I'm going to leap back into his arms just because we happen to be in the same building with one another-"

"If there's really nothing to worry about then it wouldn't have hurt to let me know, would it?"

"I didn't think I needed to ask your permission."

He stopped and turned so they were fully facing one another, two storms on a collision path. "Permission? You think that's what this is about?"

"Isn't it?" she shot back. "You wanted me to talk to you about it before accepting it, but you're telling me right now that you would have had a problem and probably wouldn't have wanted me to take it at all."

"It's not about permission, it's about leaving people hanging, Nell. It's about the fact that you seem to have no problem packing up and leaving for three months with no warning and no consideration for how that's going to affect things around here," he gestured to the room at large, but his words held a different meaning. "Did you talk to Eric about this? Or Hetty?"

The pieces were starting to click together, and Nell felt her stomach twist uncomfortably.

"Hetty knows, Eric doesn't."

"Well, at least someone did."

The clock on the wall clicked loudly in the ensuing silence. Nell's thoughts scuffed and scraped against one another in her mind as the ones worth heeding tried to push their way to the surface.

_You're leaving him. That's what this feels like to him, except he's a man and he's too stubborn to talk about his feelings. His sort-of-ex left him during a job because she put the op ahead of him and now here you are doing the exact same thing. Good job, Nell. Girlfriend of the Year. But this isn't the same-the project is temporary, it's perfectly safe, no one's in danger, and I'll be back in a few weeks. But that's not how he sees it. Perception and reality aren't always the same thing, are they? You of all people should know that…_

She glanced over at him. He was half-sitting on the conference table, watching her as her inner monologue screamed along. The look on his face and in his eyes stopped her in her tracks. Slowly, brick by brick, he was building up his walls again, the ones she'd seen so often in the past when he was trying to distance himself from what he was hearing—the ones he put up when he thought he was about to get hurt somehow. His eyes, glinting with anger moments before, had dulled to a resigned shade of gray-blue. Though his expression was stoic she knew the signs enough to read what she was seeing.

_He thinks this is about to be over. He thinks you're about to choose the job over him. He thinks you're about to leave him for good. _Somewhere inside her ribcage a chunk of her heart splintered off and fell to the floor.

"I'm sorry," she began softly. "I guess because it made sense in my mind, I assumed it would make sense and be okay with everyone else, too." She stepped closer until they were standing almost chest to chest. He didn't speak or meet her gaze, but when she tentatively reached up and laid a hand over his heart he didn't try to pull away. "If I'd known it was going to be like this, I never would have said yes. I would never want to give you a reason to doubt me."

When he answered his voice was quiet and gravelly, but thankfully without the edge of defensive anger she'd heard only moments before. "Eight to twelve weeks is a long time to go without being able to talk to you or see you or even know where you are or if you're safe. And even if you were safe, if anything happened here—"

"I'm so sorry," she whispered again, resting her forehead against his chest. She felt his arms wrap around her shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief as she settled into the embrace. "I'll call D.C. and tell them I can't make it."

He pulled back slightly till she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. His brow was furrowed with uncertainty. "Nell, you don't have to quit. That's not fair. I don't want you to miss this chance because of me. If this is important to you, you should go."

"Maybe some things are more important to me than my job."

His arms tightened around her she squeezed back, each of them craving the reassurance of physical contact. After a few moments she looked up into his eyes to try to read his expression, but when she lifted her head his lips met hers in a kiss so filled with emotion and want that it sent her head spinning even as she returned it with equal fervor. She sighed in disappointment when his lips left hers, but the disappointment was quickly forgotten when he kissed a trail across her jaw and found an especially sensitive spot in front of her ear. She gasped and her hands squeezed reflexively in the soft cotton of Callen's t-shirt, but she felt him go still beneath her touch.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he whispered, pausing to catch his breath as he loosened his grip on her. "Just don't want to start something we can't finish."

"Oh. Right." Reluctantly she drew back from his embrace. "So, I guess this means we've almost survived our first fight."

"What do you mean, 'almost'?"

"We haven't gotten to the best part." At the look of vague confusion on Callen's face, Nell looped her fingers through the front belt loops of his jeans and made exactly zero attempt to keep the innuendo out of her voice. "You know what they say the best part about fighting is?"

Comprehension dawned across his features, and his grin turned almost predatory as he planted one last deep, hungry kiss on her mouth before the two of them straightened their clothing and emerged from the conference room.

For the rest of the afternoon Nell was pleasant and accommodating (for which Eric was profoundly thankful) and Callen was efficient and jovial (for which the rest of his team breathed a collective sigh of relief). It escaped no one's notice, however, that both Nell and Callen were openly checking the clock every few minutes, or that a certain excitable energy fed their every movement, or that they left the building within minutes of one another at the end of the evening. The flush on Nell's cheeks as she bolted for her car and Callen's smug grin as he said goodbye answered everything the others needed to know.

"Not exactly subtle, are they?" Sam mused.

"No joke," Kensi snorted. "Callen shot out of here like someone lit his pants on fire."

"Not his pants," Deeks chimed, "but you're in the right general area."

"Ewww. That's just… Why do we even talk to you?"

"It's either my devastatingly good looks or my rakish wit and charm…"

Sam rolled his eyes as he packed his stuff while the two bantered on. _One of these days I'm going to end up locking those two in the conference room._ He glanced up at his teammates just in time to see a brief but barely-disguised look of desire flash between them. _On second thought, leaving Kensi and Deeks alone together might not be such a good idea after all._


	13. Trust

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: So disclaimed, baby.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **First things first: I am SO SORRY for being late in posting this! My internet was down on Monday, and yesterday I just sort of... forgot. And Mel had to remind me tonight. o.O So, my sincerest apologies to anyone who might possibly have wondered about its absence. Second: I'm even more sorry I haven't responded to the lovely reviews from the last chapter! I seem to be suffering from a deplorable case of S.A.S. (Slacker Author Syndrome), but please know that I will be replying to those immediately and I am incredibly thankful for each and every one. I NEVER take a review for granted! Third: My eternal thanks, as always, to Mel (aka** imahistorian**), who not only reminds me of deadlines but also feeds my fandom habits by sending me new cast pictures and spoilers. Thanks, Mel, for being such a great enabler! Ha!

This chapter is a bit of hurt/comfort (nothing too traumatic!) with a sweet side. Thank you for your patience this week and thanks as always for reading! Hope you enjoy **Trust**!

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><p><strong>TRUST<strong>  
>It was almost 6:30am when Nell finally broke down and dialed Callen's number. It was completely humiliating; she'd never intended to tell him about her little incident, but the pain shooting through her leg with every movement broke her resolve. It was time to admit defeat and call for reinforcements. With a grumble of resignation she keyed his number into her phone, unsurprised when he answered on the second ring.<p>

"Hey," he greeted. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Hey. I didn't wake you, did I?"

"Of course not," he chuckled. "Why? What's up?"

"Um, I need help with something at my apartment. Is there any way you could come by and pick me up for work this morning?"

"Sure. What's going on?"

"I'll show you when you get here," she hedged.

"Okay," he answered, uncertainty and concern coloring his tone. "I'll be there in a few."

A short time later, she heard a quiet knock at her front door. Nell shuffled her way slowly across her living room, and when she finally pulled the door open Callen could see the dark circles under her eyes and the way she was leaning against the door frame, a package of frozen peas in her hand.

"Making breakfast?" he quipped, hoping for a smile. She grimaced a little, and when she stepped back to let him in the hesitation in her step and flash of pain across her face immediately set him on alert. "Nell, you're limping. What happened?"

She sighed heavily. "I was coming up the stairs with an armload of groceries last night. About three steps from the top I tripped, but since I had my hands full I couldn't catch myself and I came down really hard on my right knee. I took some aspirin and iced it, but when I got up this morning I could barely move," she explained, hobbling over to an overstuffed armchair and settling herself carefully on it.

"Want me to take a look at it?"

Nell shrugged and lifted the hem of her tunic dress, and even through the fabric of the leggings she'd pulled on Callen could tell that her right knee looked a good deal larger than the left. When she actually tugged the leggings up over her knee, Callen seemed not to even try to suppress the look of surprise that registered on his features. Nell glanced down at her knee. The previous night's injury had turned her normally fair skin several brilliant shades of black, blue, purple, and even a little green around the edges, covering the entire surface of her knee cap, around the inside, and a fair few inches down onto her shin. The knee joint itself was puffy and severely swollen.

"Wow," he breathed. "You knocked it pretty good, didn't you?" His warm fingers grazed over the discolored surface, cautiously applying pressure to determine the severity of the injury. She didn't flinch at all until his fingers reached the indentation of muscles and connective fiber between her shin bone and her kneecap—the area where the purple-black shades were darkest and where she'd obviously caught the brunt of the impact when she hit the ground. The reflexive hiss of air as she gasped in pain caused him to look up in alarm, and he brought his hands up to cradle the sides of her knee. Nell watched as his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "What time did you say this happened?"

"About 7:45, when I got home from the grocery store."

"You've been in this much pain for eleven hours? Nell, why didn't you call me last night?"

"There wasn't anything to be done. Besides, I didn't want to bother you while you were out with Sam, and I thought I'd be able to sleep it off," she answered truthfully. The warmth of his hands against her bare skin felt awfully soothing, and a very persuasive voice in the back of her mind begged her to call in sick; the numbing cold of her makeshift frozen-pea-icepack and the warmth of Callen's arms around her sounded incredibly inviting. Her eyes fell shut as she slumped against the backrest of the chair.

"When was the last time you took something?"

"About two hours ago," she grumbled, not opening her eyes. "Woke up and couldn't go back to sleep." At the feel of his warm lips pressing gently just above the bruise, Nell's eyes popped open. Callen was watching her closely, blue eyes lit with concern.

"What did you need help with?" he asked. "I mean, it looks like you're already dressed and everything…"

"The stairs," Nell sighed. "There's no elevator, and at the speed I'm moving it would take at least two hours for me to make it down those three flights of stairs on my own."

"Ah."

"I feel pretty silly asking for help getting out of my own apartment."

"Don't worry about it." He stood, brushing a kiss across her cheek as he rose. Despite the near-blinding pain radiating through her leg, it was the thoughtfulness and uncommon gentleness with which he was caring for her that left her short of breath. Nell wasn't in the habit of needing to be looked-after, but feeling his hands at her waist and the tightening of his biceps under her palms as he lifted her to stand suddenly made the whole ordeal seem a little less unbearable. Not that it wasn't embarrassing, having to be helped out of a chair like an invalid, but as miserable as she felt she decided to take the fringe benefits where she could get them. Callen wrapped his arm snugly around her waist and guided her cautiously toward the door, even scooping down to retrieve her purse and key ring where they lay discarded next to the entryway.

They managed to get out the door and down to the first landing of the stairwell before Nell squeezed his arm.

"Stop. Hold on a second, let me catch my breath." Her face had broken out in a cold sweat, and she could tell just by the sensation that she was probably even paler than usual. Callen reached up to brush a wisp of hair out of her eyes and Nell glanced up to meet his gaze just as he seemed to come to a decision.

"You trust me?" he asked, a slight smile tugging at his mouth.

"Of course," Nell answered without hesitation. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking two and a half flights of stairs isn't worth you being in agony for the rest of the morning. Grab my neck." Nell's arms reached up and looped around him, linking and holding tight. Very carefully Callen reached down and scooped her into his arms, pulling her close to his chest. The relief of taking the weight off her knee combined with the feel of his strong torso just underneath the soft fabric of his t-shirt and the clean smell of his soap hit her like a wave, and she sighed as she relaxed in the embrace.

"I should call you for a ride to work more often."

"Don't push your luck," he teased, amusement creeping into his tone as he spoke. Nell rested her head in the crook of his neck.

"You must think I'm such a wuss."

"Nell, I mean this with all due respect, but your knee is completely jacked-up right now. I'm impressed you made it as long as you did with only aspirin and frozen vegetables."

When they reached the bottom of the stairs Callen didn't slow down or stop to set her back on her own feet, opting instead to carry her the short remaining distance to his car. As he opened the door and settled her into the passenger seat Nell's exhaustion and emotions got the better of her. She reached up and cupped his face in her hands, turning his face toward hers and bringing her mouth to meet his.

"Thank you," she whispered when they broke contact. Her nose brushed against his, and her thumb traced his lower lip as she spoke. "Thank you for helping and not making fun of me."

He responded with a chaste kiss against the corner of her mouth. "Not such a bad morning for me, getting to play knight in shining armor for a beautiful damsel trapped in her tower."

Nell rolled her eyes. "Get in the car, Prince Charming."

Later in the afternoon, a giddy "wheeeee!" could be heard from the upstairs walkway as Eric wheeled Nell in her rolling desk chair to the corner elevator. As luck would have it, Kensi had a chiropractor appointment the same afternoon, and her doctor had been able to squeeze in an emergency appointment for Nell immediately preceding Kensi's time slot, so Kensi had offered to give her a ride. When Eric steered her to the bullpen and stopped the chair in front of Kensi's station, Nell gingerly pulled herself up to standing. The pain had abated somewhat, but she was still leaning heavily on the edge of the other woman's desk.

"You ready to roll?" Kensi asked, rising and grabbing her bag.

"Yup," Nell answered.

"Need a hand out to the car?" Kensi offered. But before Nell could answer, Callen had crossed the space between the desks and slipped an arm around Nell's waist.

"Don't worry about it, Kens. I've got her."

From across the bullpen Sam gave a cough that sounded suspiciously like the word "_whipped!"_ while Deeks tried unsuccessfully to bite back a snicker. Kensi just rolled her eyes while Nell pretended not to notice the one-finger salute Callen shot both of them behind her back. Just to goad them both a little further, she suspected, Callen reached down and scooped her up to carry her for the second time that day. As she leaned into his chest and snuck a quick kiss just below his ear, she smiled to herself. Maybe allowing someone else to take care of her every now and then wasn't so bad after all.


	14. Teamwork

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: If they were mine, there'd be Nallen snogging. A LOT of Nallen snogging. Densi, too. In fact, they'd probably have to move the whole show to a later time slot. Or just straight onto one of the premium cable channels. Maybe both. So... no. They're not mine.**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Thank you, awesome readers, for your continued support of this story! It never fails to make my day to see Reviews and Alerts pop up in the ol' Inbox! Thanks also to my girls, Mel (**imahistorian**) and Angela (**Angela6257**), for their unfailing encouragement, their invaluable insight, and their general level of all-around awesomeness. Thanks, ladies.

This installment is first-person Eric POV, examining how he might see the situation with Nell and Callen. As always, I'd be curious to know your thoughts. Hope you enjoy this week's chapter!

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><p><strong>TEAMWORK<strong>  
>I hate seeing her like this.<p>

We may have started on tense terms when she first came to NCIS, but since then things have changed completely. She's my partner, my right arm, practically my best friend. I can't imagine doing this job without her there to back me up.

I'm not so great with people. Interacting with them, I mean. I never really know what to say or do when they're having a problem. And I REALLY don't know what to do with crying women.

Someone needs to write a book about that. How to Handle Crying Women. Boom, guaranteed best seller. I think anyone with a Y-chromosome would read it, because it seems like we're all pretty clueless about that kind of thing. The only thing I DO know about crying women (this one, at least) is that I hate seeing her cry and I wish I could do something to help.

Her eyes are rimmed red and she's staring vacantly at a spot on the floor as we sit on the hard plastic chairs in the waiting room of California Hospital Medical Center's ER. We both saw the explosion when it happened, captured on the ubiquitous traffic cams and displayed in full-screen Technicolor on the monitors in Ops. Callen and Sam were both taken to the hospital in ambulances. The chatter on the emergency frequency scanner was that Callen had sustained a head injury of undetermined severity and moderate to severe blunt force trauma to the torso, and was unconscious on the way to the ER. Sam had been farther away from the blast, so his injuries were similar but less severe. Nell was a pro. She kept working, looking up information, firing off addresses and statistics, relaying data back to Kensi and Deeks in the field. But as soon as the guys arrived at the hospital and we lost the information feed from the EMT's radios, her typing got significantly slower and she didn't say another word. I could see shiny tracks down her cheeks where silent tears were leaking out. As much as it stresses me out to see any of the team get injured like that, it's got to be that much worse when one of those people is someone you have feelings for. Someone you love.

It's kind of weird to say that.

I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little disappointed or jealous or whatever when she first told me she and Callen were seeing one another. But I eventually got over it when I realized how happy he makes her. Anyone with two working brain cells can tell they're crazy for each other. Nell just sort of lights up when he walks into the room, and Callen stands up a little straighter when she's around. They almost have a magnet thing going on—wherever one of them is, the other somehow gravitates toward them even if they never touch. It's disgustingly sweet, actually, and so whatever my feelings for her might have been in the past it's hard to begrudge my friend something that makes her so obviously, blatantly happy.

Except that she's not happy right now. Right now, she's trying not to cry. God, I wish I could do something.

We know he's out of surgery but still in the ICU. Hetty is still listed as his next-of-kin (his "aunt" I think), so she's been the only one allowed back to see him. We're both a bit surprised when she steps out into the waiting area and waves for Nell to come to the door.

"Nell, dear, could you come here, please?"

We both rise, and I follow her across the room to where Hetty is waiting by the ICU nurses' station.

"Nell, this is Nurse Gardner," Hetty begins, indicating a tall brunette in green scrubs before turning her attention back to Nell. "It's quite all right, dear, we've fixed the mix-up in the paperwork and you're welcome to go back and see him now. Nurse Gardner, if you wouldn't mind showing Mrs. Callen back to her husband's room?"

Except for her eyes widening a bit, Nell never gives any indication of surprise nor contradiction to the story Hetty has just told. She just nods a little, whispers "thanks, Hetty," and follows the nurse back through the double doors and down the hallway.

Once the two are out of sight, Hetty gestures toward the seating area. I take a chair next to her, still not sure what to make of the whole exchange. _Mrs. Callen? Am I really that oblivious or did she just… _Right as I make up my mind to ask, she speaks.

"In our profession, Mr. Beale, a certain willingness to bend the truth is sometimes a requirement of the job. I dislike doing so when it's not strictly necessary, but in this particular instance no harm is done. Besides, I suspect that when he wakes Mr. Callen would much rather see her face sitting vigil at his bedside than mine."

I nod in acknowledgment before settling back into my seat. I'm not exactly sure how much she knows about Callen's past or what role she might have played in it, but I know she feels an added sense of responsibility toward him, even more than she does for the rest of her agents. If she was going to "bend the truth" for anyone, it would be him. She seems to have a soft spot for Nell, too, so I guess I shouldn't really be surprised she's so willing to break rules when it helps both of them at the same time.

After about an hour, Hetty excuses herself to return to the Mission. About thirty minutes after that, Kensi and Deeks walk into the waiting area. Finally, about four hours after my arrival at the hospital, we're escorted back to Sam and Callen's adjacent recovery rooms. Since Sam is awake and alert Kensi and Deeks go to check on him first. I walk past them to the next room to check on Nell and Callen.

Even after all this time, it still throws me a little to see any of the agents—my friends—hooked up to breathing tubes and heart monitors and IV pumps. I guess it knocks the reality of what we do a little too close to home for my comfort. Callen seems to be asleep, but he must have woken up at some point because Nell isn't sitting in the chair next to the bed, she's actually lying _on_ the bed with him, his arms holding her in a loose embrace as he rests. I slip quietly into the room and take a chair opposite where she's lying with her head on his shoulder.

"How's he feeling?"

"Tired," she whispers. "Drugged. He's going to be in pain for a few weeks, but there's nothing life-threatening. They got the internal bleeding stopped. He's got several cracked ribs, two hairline fractures on his vertebrae, and some pretty incredible bruises."

"Good. I mean, not good that he's hurt, but I'm glad he's going to be alright."

"Me, too." A shadow passes across her face. "I have to get back to the Mission."

"What? Why?"

"I never finished backstopping Deeks' alias for the Ochoa case. If the DEA decides they want to move on that, it needs to be ready to go."

Finally, I something I can do. "You stay here. I can take care of the backstopping. Your husband will want to see you when he wakes back up, _Mrs. Callen._"

She cringes but can't quite bite back a smile. "I can't believe Hetty said that. I mean, I'm glad she did, but… Anyway, no, I'll go. I couldn't ask you to do my work for me."

"You didn't ask. I offered. You can pay me back later, partner."

This time, the smile reaches all the way to her eyes. "Thanks, buddy."

"No problem. Text me and let me know how he's doing."

"I will."

As I step back into the brighter lights of the hallway, I can't help feel that a little bit of weight has been lifted. I can't fix Callen for her, but it's nice to be able to do something to help.


	15. Certainty

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by: MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Nope. Nyet. Nein. Negative. No way, Jose'! (In other words, still not mine.)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Apparently I'm still suffering from that case of Slacker Author Syndrome. Sigh. So very sorry, guys. Real life got a little mad there for a while, but I still could've found time to post this. As a form of apology, I offer the following: 1) A two-for-one update tonight, since this installment is super-short, and 2) an additional BRAND NEW NALLEN FIC, also going up tonight! That's like three fics for the price of one! (Two here, plus the new fic. Yes.)

My sincerest thanks, as always, go to Mel (aka **imahistorian**). She has dutifully reminded me every week to hurry up and post; any slacking is my fault and mine alone. The following segment is very short at just under 500 words, and I debated not even posting it... but after the season finale it just seemed appropriate somehow. Hope you enjoy, and thank you again for sticking with me through this. You guys are amazing. :)

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><p><strong>CERTAINTY<strong>

For such a Type A individual, Nell is actually pretty positive in her outlook on life and people in general. She's a big believer in free will and personal choice. Despite the fact that there are so many sickos in the world who do so many terrible things, she sees both her work and her co-workers as proof that there _are_ still good people around who choose to do the right things even when it's difficult.

It simultaneously amazes and confounds her that someone like G Callen could ever doubt that he is one of the good guys.

Callen spent his youth bouncing from foster home to foster home. He's had no consistent role models or father figures and based on a few off-handed comments Nell is pretty sure he's lived in some rough neighborhoods and kept company with some unsavory characters. God knows he's had plenty of opportunities in his lifetime to, as Eric might word it, "turn to the Dark Side." But he never has.

At every turn he's made choices that show he has a good heart. He chose a career in law enforcement in part to make sure that others wouldn't have to go through what he endured in his younger life. His almost complete lack of material possessions (and his willingness to give away what he's got, for example, when he bought "Jennifer" for Sam) proves he's not in it for the money. His ability to see all sides of a situation shows his capacity for compassion. His job is emotionally, physically, and psychologically draining, but he sticks with it. Sometimes, as part of this job, he has to do things that others might consider immoral—things like lying, or operating outside the letter of the law, or even taking a life. But he even though he is capable of committing these acts, he always does it for a reason, never from hatred or spite or simple vengeance. He does it to preserve life, to protect the freedom and safety of others, of innocents who cannot protect themselves. He's no Superman, but he's doing the best he can and it amazes Nell that he never sees that.

One day, when he's had a particularly bad week, Callen finds a picture clipped from a magazine of Sir Richard Harris as Albus Dumbledore in one of the early Harry Potter movies. He never saw the films, but he did read the books (a fact he publicly blames on his incurable insomnia and perpetual boredom in the wee small hours of the morning). Next to this Richard Harris/Dumbledore is a cut-out word bubble with a quote written in his girlfriend's small, neat handwriting:

"_It is our choices, Harry, that show what we truly are, far more than our abilities."_

And he chuckles in spite of himself. He doesn't know when she put the picture up, but he leaves it hanging there just the same.

It makes him smile every time he walks past it.


	16. Honor

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Quoth the Raven, "Dude, it's not hers."

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Yes, it's another first-person POV, this time from Deeks' point of view. But this one was so much fun to write! For the record, I actually researched several online sources for "Man Law." It's a pretty entertaining concept, if you ever find yourself bored and in need of something funny to Google. Also, I know that Nell as a football fan has now sort of been contradicted in series canon, but since this chapter was already written when that episode aired (and since I like it too much to leave it out entirely) I decided to post it as-is anyway. Also, one COULD make a case that Nell was just claiming she didn't like football as a way to shut down Eric's attempts at flirting... A case could definitely be made IF one chose to believe that. I'm not sayin'... I'm just sayin'.

Anyway, thank you to YOU, if you're still here and still reading even after the unscheduled writer-hiatus. I sincerely appreciate the time you take to read, and am especially appreciative of those of you who take time to review. It honestly makes my day! Hope you enjoy this bit of fun! :)

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><p><strong>HONOR<strong>

Man Law, Bro Code, whatever you want to call it, all guys have a set of rules they live by. And, like all rules, these rules tend to have exceptions. Never block another guy's attempts to score with a chick (unless you called it first, or she's a 4 or lower and you're saving him from himself). Always take turns buying rounds (unless someone lost a bet, then it's their problem). Friends' exes are strictly off-limits (unless she's a 9 or better, in which case a six-month waiting period is considered fair). There is, however, one rule in Man Law with no real exception: "Bros before hoes." The granddaddy of them all. Look after you fellow man's best interest at all times, whether it's being a good wing-man, taking one for the team, or respecting dibs by laying off the smokin'-hot fox with the gold band on her finger. Bros before hoes. Cardinal rule of Man Law. Man law exists for your well-being and protection. Honor it. Embrace it. Be a man.

Normally, it would be considered a violation of Man Law (or at least a pretty girly thing to do) to eavesdrop on a phone conversation, much less a girl's phone conversation, much less the girl of your bro. However, when I heard Nell on the phone earlier this morning, an interesting tidbit caught my ear…

"No, not that I know of. I don't think he knows about it… I really don't want to say anything. I don't want to be 'that girl' and make a big deal. Besides, it's not like 27 is a big birthday in the grand scheme of things… Mom, I'm not going to do that. Whatever happens, happens. I'm not going to lose sleep over it…"

_Nell's birthday. Soon-ish, by the sounds of it. And Callen doesn't know._

Now, far be it from me to meddle in another man's relationship dealings, but for most men a central motivation behind honoring the "bros before hoes" rule is that it promotes good karma, especially when it comes to helping a brother score (and especially if the chick he is scoring with is cute, which Nell certainly is). By helping Callen score points, I score myself karma points, and the more points I score, the more likely I am to _actually_ score. It's just solid math.

It is for this reason that I corner Callen by the snack machine half an hour later.

"Hey, Callen," I whisper, eyes darting around the room to make sure we're alone.

"Deeks?"

"I have intel for you."

His eyes narrow slightly in suspicion. "What kind of intel?"

"I might have accidentally overheard a phone conversation this morning, and, um… Do you know when Nell's birthday is? Because it sounded like she might have been discussing it with someone, and…"

His face blanches. "I do know when it is. It's tomorrow. Dammit, I almost forgot."

"Yeah, sorry, man. I just couldn't, in good conscience, let that one slide. Would've been a major bro-cedural foul. A breach of bro-tocal, as it were."

"And it would be bad for your personal scoreboard."

"True."

"Okay, well, thanks for the reminder. I guess I'm going shopping tonight," he grumbles, a look of uncertainty and trepidation crossing his face.

"You don't know what to get her, do you?"

"Not a clue."

"Allow me to consult with my esteemed colleague."

/ / / / /

"Kensi. Kensi. Kensi. Kensi. Ke—"

"WHAT?"

"You're a girl."

"That's very observant of you. LAPD pay extra for that level of skill?"

"You know what girls like."

"I thought you said I wasn't a 'real girl.'"

"Well, in this particular scenario you'll do."

"Oh, good. I was worried there for a minute," she deadpans, turning back to her computer screen. I lower my voice and take the excuse to sit on the edge of her desk and lean just a little closer.

"Nell's birthday is tomorrow and Callen forgot all about it, and now he doesn't know what to get her."

Her eyes slowly rise to meet mine, incredulity written all over her face like bad graffiti. "You're helping Callen come up with a gift?"

"What can I say? I'm a team player."

"Do you still owe him money from that World Series bet?"

Now it's my turn to glare. You make one bad wager… "Look, are you going to help or not? Isn't there something in Girl Code about 'sisters before misters' and looking out for one another? This is for Nell—our sweet, lovely Nell who is responsible for the fact that Callen was actually whistling Monday morning, _before_ he had his coffee. Happy leader, happy team."

"He has been less mopey lately," she concedes, leaning back in her chair to think. "Okay, they haven't been dating that long, so jewelry's out. House wares are too domestic. Clothes are too personal."

"And might make her question his heterosexuality."

"Maybe if it was you instead of Callen," she snorts. "What about tickets to something? Is there a concert she wants to see? Or tickets to a sporting event? Museum exhibit? Or maybe he could take her out to a nice dinner somewhere, give her an excuse to get dressed up?"

"Kensi, a fancy restaurant dinner doesn't really sound like Callen's thing."

"This isn't a present for him, it's a present for Nell. Besides, I'm told 'real girls' like that sort of thing."

"Touché. I'll pass along your recommendations. Maybe with this many options something will strike a chord."

As I move to stand back up her hand reaches out to grab my arm. "Deeks, this is actually really thoughtful of you. Helping him out, I mean."

"Like I said: team player."

"Right," she mutters, but she's wearing a mysterious little smile as she says it.

I bite back a grin and mentally add a couple more points to my Karma Scoreboard.

/ / / / /

The next morning I don't get a chance to ask Callen about what he decided before we're all called upstairs. The minute my butt hit the seat of my chair Eric gave the Whistle of Destiny for us to head up to Ops to start our new case. The only indication Callen's even aware of the day is that on the way out of Ops after the briefing, he leans down to whisper something to Nell and brushes a kiss across her cheek before darting back out the door. I pretend not to see the kiss, but hang back just long enough to watch her reaction. Big smile and a little shake of the head before she turns back to the screen. Whatever he said she seems like a happy girl, so I guess all systems are go.

Girls think they have the market cornered on the non-verbal communication thing. They may be able to do it with a look, but guys can do it with a head-jerk, which is almost as effective. As we head back down the stairs, I catch Callen's attention and give him a single head-jerk in question. _You get something good?_

He replies with a single head-jerk in response. _Got it._

I smile and whistle a bit was we head down the stairs.

When we return from the field, Hetty has made an extra pot of tea and bought cookies to mark the occasion. Kensi was thoughtful enough to get Nell a birthday card signed from the team (why didn't I think of that?) and a gift card to Starbucks, which works perfectly with the travel mug Eric got her. As we're gathering up our things to leave, I manage to grab Callen's attention.

"So, what's the verdict? What did you get her?"

"Tickets to the next Chargers home game."

"I didn't know Nell was a football fan. You sure that's not for you?"

"For one thing, the Chargers aren't my team. Second," he laughs, "yes. Yes, Nell is most assuredly a football fun."

"Huh. Whatever you say, man."

Callen grins widely and smacks me on the back as he heads out to his car.

/ / / / /

The morning after her birthday Nell comes bouncing into the Mission looking like someone spiked her morning coffee with extra espresso, and Callen follows her in a moment later looking like the cat that ate the canary.

"Good night last night?" Sam baits, but Callen just smiles and reaches for the sports section. "I take it the birthday present went over well?"

"Very well. I had some good intel."

Callen pulls the sports page up in front of his face (effectively shutting down that line of questioning) and Sam chuckles lightly in amusement, but it's not till I see Kensi's face that I realize I've really done something right. She's giving me this strange look, but her eyes are curious and a smile is tugging the corners of her mouth. I barely hear her mumbled "good job, partner," before her eyes are back on her paperwork. But she's still smiling.

Oh yes. My Man Law Karma Scoreboard just lit up like Dodgers Stadium. I'm trying to rack up as many points as I can. There's a very specific reason I need all the good karma I can get… but she's definitely worth the effort. Long live Man Law.


	17. Composure

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Never have been, (probably) never will be...

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **1) Forgive me once again for the extreme tardiness of this chapter and for not yet replying to your wonderful reviews. I PROMISE I will reply to each and every one this week. 2) If you're happy to see this update, you should thank **imahistorian **and **Angela6257 **(aka Mel and Angela). They cruelly and with fiendish glee withheld alcohol, cookies, and YouTube until I posted this. Which I admittedly should've done ages ago anyway, but they're responsible for lighting the proverbial fire under my butt. 3) If you're still here, THANK YOU for sticking around and not giving up on this. There will only be one, _maybe_ two more chapters after this and I promise not to wait 6wks to post the next ones. 4) This is the last character-POV chapter. It's Kensi's turn this time. Thank you so much for reading. Hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>COMPOSURE<br>**"Look at me. Nell, LOOK at me." Callen's voice, though barely raised, seems to cut through the white noise and confusion surrounding us. There's the faintest tremor in his speech, not something I'd notice if I wasn't standing right next to him, and I can tell he's fighting hard to keep his tone calm and level for her. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, do you understand? Neither is Kensi." His eyes never leave her face as he gestures for me to edge toward her.

"That's right, Nell. We're going to get you out of here." I'm trying to be as reassuring as I can and she spares me an almost imperceptible nod of acknowledgment, but I can see the unease written all over her, broadcast loud and clear through the faint tremors in her hands, the tight line of her mouth, and the way her toes fidget inside her shoes. _She's not an agent, _I think to myself. _She's not trained for this._ Even as the thought materializes another voice from the back of my mind pipes up to say that no amount of training truly prepares someone to have a C-4 vest strapped to their chest while wired up to a car battery and a poorly-crafted dead man switch.

_The operation had gone terribly wrong, terribly fast. We brought Nell along to hack into a computer at this lowlife arms dealer's home; we knew that even once we got inside our time would be short and any work done on the hardware itself would have to be done quickly and efficiently. Out of the four agents, I'm the next best with wires and technology, so I followed Nell into the guy's office while Deeks stood watch at the door and Callen and Sam patrolled outside the property. Everything seemed quiet, like it was going off without a hitch._

_In hindsight, that probably should have been our first clue something was wrong._

_We heard a sound from the next room—the unmistakable sound of shuffling footsteps. Deeks signaled to me to follow him and (thinking the small home office was secure) we left Nell to keep working. _

_Too bad we didn't know about the hidden doorway inside the office closet or the ambush we'd walk into next door._

_The amount of time between when we stepped out of the office and when we finally re-located Nell was no more than eight minutes total, but it was time enough for all hell to break loose. Deeks and I were surrounded by five large guys, gunshots from outside and shouts in our earwigs told us Sam and Callen were in no better shape than we were, and somewhere in the confusion our suspect, Marcus Ward, managed to grab Nell, knock her hard across the head, strap her into that damned bomb vest and use her as a human shield. It wasn't a very good plan-Sam took Ward down with a double-tap to the head, but that still left us with the problem of Nell's dangerous new fashion accessories…_

"Kensi, what's the problem? Are you waiting for an invitation or something?" Callen's tone, sharper now and more strained, interrupts my foggy thoughts. The device isn't on a timer, but Callen's patience is, and the clock is running fast. I edge behind Nell and try to trace the wires with my eyes. It's a simple enough set-up in theory, but Ward was a lousy bomb maker and all those loose wires are going to be as dangerous as the actual explosives.

"I can fix this, G. Shouldn't be a problem," I call back to him. "You're going to be fine, Nell." I can see her shoulders hitch a bit as she takes in a long, steadying breath. I have to give the girl credit: she's not screaming, not crying. She's a whole lot calmer than most people would be in her shoes right now. I hear footsteps approaching then stopping abruptly.

"Kensi? Callen? You guys need any help over there?" Deeks' voice sounds level enough but I can hear the apprehension.

"We're fine, Deeks. I'm just going to disarm this little toy Nell was playing with." I'm trying to lighten the mood a little and thankfully Deeks takes the cue.

"What, that thing? I've seen more dangerous Christmas light displays. You ever see National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation? You've got nothing to worry about, Nell. Kensi's been rewiring things since before she could drive…"

Deeks prattles on like that the whole time I'm working, and for once in our partnership I'm actually thankful, but it doesn't seem to be making an impact on Nell. The whole time I work her eyes stay glued to G's and his to hers, like some sort of high-stakes staring contest. She's standing almost perfectly still now, so whatever he's doing must be working. I can understand what she must be feeling; after the Russians and the laser death trap I know what it feels like to be scared of moving even enough to take a breath… and I know what it feels like to be able to look into the eyes of someone you trust when everything around you is teetering on the edge of chaos.

I disconnect one last wire. This should do it, but I still need to be careful. I edge back around to stand at Nell's side where there seems to be a thin patch in the duct tape. If I can cut her loose from here, Sam and Deeks can help me secure the rest of this contraption till the bomb squad arrives.

"Nell? I'm almost done, sweetie, you're doing fine. I'm going to cut the duct tape loose under your arm here, and as soon as I say move I want you to take a couple of steps directly to your left and then walk slowly toward Callen and Sam. Think you can do that?"

"Yes," she whispers. I can see Callen stiffen a little in my peripheral vision and Sam places a hand on his shoulder, either to lend support or hold him in place. This is the moment of truth. Slowly and carefully I run the edge of my pocket knife between her blouse and the tape, cutting only a centimeter at a time as I try to support the weight of the device with one hand and slice with the other. I tug the last strip free and slowly maneuver the pieces around her petite frame.

"Okay, Nell, I need you to slowly set the switch down on the ground… Okay, good. Good. Now, take two steps to your left and walk slowly toward Callen."

She follows my directions to the letter until she's about three feet away from him—at which point she launches herself into his arms, a sound somewhere between a shout of victory and a sob of relief escaping her throat. I carefully set the pieces down onto the ground and before I can even call for him Deeks is at my side.

"She's a tough cookie," Deeks mumbles, cautiously examining the now-deactivated trigger. "She did pretty good."

I glance back over at her. She hasn't made a sound since that initial outburst but her whole body is shaking and she's clinging to Callen like her life depends on it, face buried in the front of his shirt. He's got both arms wrapped tight around her and though I can't read what he's saying from this distance I can see he's got his cheek pressed against the side of her head whispering into her ear, trying to calm her down. In Nell's world, no one exists but Callen right now. I get the feeling she's the only person in his world at this moment, too.

She held her composure pretty well. Even though this is a more physical display of emotion than either of them ever shows in public, I know Sam, Deeks, and I will never speak of this to them. There will be no ribbing, no teasing, no lame jokes about PDA's, even from my discretion-challenged partner. Sometimes even the strongest among us need a little help pulling it back together.


	18. 18 Perspective

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Seriously?

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **You guys. I cannot even. I'm SO SORRY for abandoning this for so long. It will likely seem anticlimactic at this point (as there are only two chapters left, including this one) but here it is anyway. Thanks as always to **imahistorian** for not letting me walk away completely. And thanks you to YOU, if you are still here reading this, for not giving up. Just... thank you.

* * *

><p>They usually spent their evenings at her place. Since she had the most comfortable furniture (including a proper queen-size bed) it just made the most sense, but it wasn't feasible every night. He'd asked her to come over to his place for a change, insisting he had a couple of things he wanted to show her. She narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in mock suspicion at his possible unsavory motives-not that she'd have complained at the prospect of him luring her there for tawdry purposes- but he seemed oddly serious and a little off-balance, so she didn't make light of it or press the issue.<p>

When she arrived at his house and stepped into his living room, however, she immediately burst into delighted laughter.

"You bought a couch!"

"I did."

"I'm impressed! Real furniture. That's quite a commitment!"

He rolled his eyes but couldn't quite suppress the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Well, there's this woman I know, and I'm thinking of inviting her over sometime, so I figured maybe I should get something for her to sit on."

Nell collapsed onto the sofa, running a hand over the smooth brown leather. "It suits you. Very masculine."

"Is that an insult or a compliment?"

"In your case? I think it's a good thing you're masculine. Feminine isn't really my type."

Callen plopped down onto the oversize cushions, pulling Nell up against him. She hummed contentedly, letting a hand fall to his thigh and her head rest against his chest.

"It goes with the space," she concluded.

Callen glanced around at the near-empty room, then pulled his head back just slightly to try to look at her. "How so?"

"Well, the sofa fits your personality, and this room has the most of your stuff in here—different pieces that represent who you are. It shows another facet."

He shrugged, staring off into space, enjoying the rare opportunity to just sit quietly with her. After several long minutes of contemplative silence, she spoke.

"So what made you decide to buy it?"

"Like I said, I wanted you to have a place to sit."

"I didn't mind sharing the recliner with you," she offered, eyes cutting over to the tatty, secondhand seat.

"It wasn't exactly comfortable though," he snorted. "Not for long, anyway."

"I'm duly impressed. This is a very nice piece of furniture."

"Thank you."

"So this is obviously Thing 1. What was the other thing you wanted to show me?"

Callen shifted uncomfortably and drew a deep breath, seeming to come to a decision before moving slowly over to the fireplace mantle and retrieving a small wooden box.

"Have you seen this before?" he asked, balancing the box on his knees as he seated himself next to Nell on the couch again.

"Mmm, I've seen it sitting up there," she began, "but I haven't ever looked at what's in it. I figured if it was important you'd show me eventually. "

Callen paused a moment before lifting the lid. "It's kind of my permanent record. Everything I have from my childhood, everything I know about my family, my life as a kid—it's all in this box."

Nell's eyes darted up to his, but she said nothing. His brow furrowed slightly and his eyes grew distant. She let her fingertips fall to rest lightly on his arm, a silent encouragement and reminder of her presence.

"You asked me one time why I bought this house, since I've never really stayed anywhere for long. The truth is, Hetty found out it was for sale and did all the paperwork for me. When I was fourteen I lived here with a foster family for three months. It was the longest I ever stayed in one place, so it was sort of the closest I ever came to having a family."

He pulled a small notebook from the box, opening it to a page with a list of addresses.

"Every foster home I ever lived in is listed in this notebook." He handed Nell the small book and watched as she slowly thumbed through its thin pages.

"But this is Hetty's handwriting."

"I know."

Her eyes squinted in concern, trying to process the new information she was taking in. "Some of the dates listed… You only stayed in this one for three days."

Callen glanced at the book. "I guess so. There are some I don't really remember." He shifted in his seat as he watched her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"You know," she began carefully, "you don't have to show these things to me if you don't want to. I won't be offended. This is pretty personal stuff."

"No." He was still frowning a bit, but one arm slipped around her waist as the other one reached up to scratch the back of his head. "No, I don't mind you knowing."

Nell was quiet for a moment, the significance of the admission not lost on her. "So, is it strange? Being back here?"

"It was at first. But I guess I've never lived in one place for very long, so who knows if it would be different in a completely new house?"

"You were happy here though."

"Yeah. I mean, as much as I ever was as a kid."

"Has the place changed much since you lived here before?"

"No. Not at all, really. Some fresh paint maybe, but it's still the same. I carved my name in one of the door frames, and that's even still here."

Nell smiled at the insight into the mind of a teenage Callen. "Show me?"

Callen shrugged, not quite understanding her interest but appreciating it nonetheless. He stood and let her link her fingers with his before leading her into the spare bedroom, the room that used to be his. It still smelled and felt the same in a way he couldn't quite articulate, so instead he guided her to the door frame on which his name was carved.

"I did this," he explained, indicating the etched inscription. "I didn't do it at all the houses I stayed in, just the ones I actually wanted to remember."

Nell's fingers traced almost reverently over the indentations in the wood. "And you said you were thirteen?"

"Fourteen."

She outlined the _'83_, smiling mischievously as she nudged him with her shoulder. "Wow, you're really old."

"You like older men."

"No, I like one particular older man. There's a difference."

"Ah."

"You marked it as being yours."

"I guess so."

"And now it really is."

"I left here nearly thirty years ago and never thought I'd be back. It's strange to think that everything I know about my past is in this house. Most of it can be contained in one small box."

"But that doesn't mean anything. Millions of bytes of information can be stores on a microchip smaller than my fingernail. You know more about yourself than you think you do."

"I have pieces that never seem to connect. I mean, look at what happened with Kensi and her search for answers about her dad. Who's to say one day I won't find out that everything I know about myself is wrong? What if even the few things I do know about myself turn out not to be true?"

"I think that's impossible though."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, just because you don't know certain facts, or those facts might end up being erroneous, doesn't mean you can't know who you are. You already know that. Every experience in your life so far—every crappy foster home, every time a teammate backed you up or let you down, every question and non-answer—they're all a part of you. Maybe the answers will come, and maybe they won't. Maybe this IS who you are."

"That's not a very encouraging thought."

"Or extremely encouraging, depending on your outlook," she countered. "It means you know _exactly _who you are. Instead of waiting for someone else to define you, you've defined yourself. You have more control than you think."

He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"You would know about controlling things."

"Control? I don't know what you're talking about, Agent Callen," Nell replied, attempting a straight face but unable to keep the glint of humor from her eyes.

"Of course not," he chuckled, pulling her closer, the tightness in his sudden embrace betraying more emotion than he'd allow his words to say. She relaxed into him, fingers curling into the soft hem of his t-shirt, content to be held for as long as he was willing to stand there and hold her.

After a while she felt him sigh and loosen his arms around her, and Nell took the opportunity to gently break the silence.

"What else do you remember about this place?"

Callen took a deep breath, took Nell's hand once more, and led her on a tour of the rest of his old/new house. Every room brought up a different, long-buried memory-from the linen closet (jumping out to scare Alina), to the kitchen (Mr. Rostoff dancing and spinning Mrs. Rostoff as she attempted to put dinner on the table), to the back stoop (Russian lessons while watching the sunset in the evenings), to the floor vent (bouncing on it just because he could). Nell listened intently as Callen told each story, nodding or squeezing his hand from time to time, but for once not speaking or attempting to fill in the gaps. And with each memory shared, Callen felt himself relax a bit in a way he hadn't experienced since moving in. Perhaps it was the realization that the memories were still there, even after so much time. Perhaps it was being able to voice them aloud for the first time. And perhaps it was simply having a companion to share them with. Whatever the reason, when he and Nell finally resettled on the couch in his living room, he thought to himself that perhaps he actually had experienced a real home all those years ago without even realizing it. And now it was his again.

Without a word, he leaned over and kissed Nell deeply, pressing her into the sofa cushions. He finally had a chance to make a choice, to steer his own fate, to take charge of his own life and create a happy memory of his own design.

And so he did.


	19. Brave

**A CODE TO LIVE BY  
>by MioneAlterEgo<strong>

**DISCLAIMER: **Don't mind me, I'm just here for the feels.

**AUTHOR'S NOTES: **My sincerest love and thanks to all those who are still reading, even after all this time. Every follow and favorite makes my heart smile, and reviews cause a special happy-dance that makes my cat give me a weird look. (Well, weirder than usual.) Thanks also to my girls **imahistorian **and **Angela6257**. The fact that I've not been incarcerated or institutionalized at this point is directly related to their emotional support and general awesomeness. I'm pleased to announce that this chapter is _not_ the last in the series! Another short installment has been written to round out the series at an even 20 chapters... because my pseudo-OCD couldn't cope with just 19. Heh heh. Furthermore, a brand-spankin'-new Nallen one-shot (different universe from Code) will also be posted soon, so you may wish to check out that one, too! THANK YOU ALWAYS for reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy!

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><p><strong>BRAVE<strong>  
>"I think I'm having a mid-life crisis."<p>

"You're not that old," Sam replies without looking up from his paper. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm having a lot of crazy thoughts lately."

"How is that different than normal?"

"Ha ha."

"So, what? You're thinking of going sky diving or something?"

"Different kind of crazy."

Sam's eyes squint in disapproval and he lowers his voice. "You didn't cheat on Nell, did you?"

"What? God, no!"

"I'm just sayin', you know I'd kick your ass for that, and the others would help me do it."

"Sam, if I ever cheat on Nell, you all have my permission to beat the hell out of me. Repeatedly."

"So… What? It's the opposite? You're thinking serious relationship thoughts?"

Callen answers with the solid _thump _of his head hitting his wall behind him_._ "This is a bad idea."

Sam folds his newspaper and sets it on his desk, regarding his partner silently for a moment. Sam knows things have been going well between Callen and Nell. Really well. In fact, in the entire time he's known G Callen, he's never seen the guy smile as much as he has in the last year. He bought a real sofa a few months back. Even sleeps every now and then.

"You want to ask her to move in."

Callen gave a noncommittal shrug. "Something like that."

Sam's eyebrows arch. "Something bigger?"

Callen fixes him with a serious stare. "Like I said, they're just crazy thoughts."

Sam rises and motions for Callen to follow him, locating a quiet corner in view of the bullpen. Satisfied with their relative level of privacy, he looks his partner in the face again. The swirl of emotions in Callen's blue eyes is an unfamiliar combination; gone is the mixture of loneliness and anger, replaced by shades of something that looks strangely like hope.

"She loves you, G. God only knows why, but she does. What makes you think having her in your life long-term would be such a bad thing?"

"It's not her I'm worried about. Look at my record: I'm 42 years old, no family, 37 foster homes growing up, and already sort of divorced once. Long-term isn't exactly my strong suit. What if I can't be the guy she needs?"

"You seem to be doin' fine so far."

"I've never lived in the same house for more than a couple of years."

"You can learn how. It's easy. And you already have the house."

"I don't even own furniture."

"I hear they have stores for that. Look, do you want her in your life or not?"

"Yeah, I do."

"You think she feels the same?"

Callen's gaze drifts toward the Ops center. "I think she does."

"Then what are you afraid of? If you want something permanent, make it happen. Man up. Break the pattern. Be the change you wish to see. Courage is not the absence of fear, but the judgment that something else is more important."

"I'm taking away your motivational books."

Sam laughs. "Fine. But you know I'm right."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say…"

He's sprawled on his new couch later that night, and Nell is sprawled on top of him, asleep. As he traces aimless patterns on her back, his mind wanders back to his conversation with Sam and those crazy, irrational thoughts. After his life growing up Callen didn't think he'd ever want to put himself back into the position of potentially being cast aside ever again. And yet, he realizes, the thought of losing Nell unsettles him so much more than the thought of furniture or promises or ever-afters.

There are fifty reasons their relationship is a bad idea. They have completely different backgrounds. They have completely different personalities. He's got well over ten years on her in age. And, though she doesn't own her own handcuffs, she _is_ technically in law enforcement, which used to be a big deal-breaker for him. In opening up himself, his heart, to someone like her, he could very well be setting himself up for the biggest fall of his life. Letting someone in is, after all, a huge vulnerability. He can't lose (or have taken from him) what was never his to begin with, so continuing to keep her at arm's length would be the safest choice, the easiest choice.

Except he knows it's too late for that.

Somewhere along the way, she wove herself into his life in ways he was never quite prepared for. He never planned to fall in love. He _really_ never planned on needing or even wanting someone in his life. And yet, she's here. And for reasons he has yet to fully understand, more and more frequently she chooses to sleep tangled with him on a too-small-to-sleep sofa or his lumpy, fold-away camp bed because she'd rather wake up with a sore neck and him than comfortable and alone in her own apartment.

_Maybe it's time for my next piece of furniture._

She sighs against his chest, her head tucked just beneath his chin. Loose strands of her hair and the smell of her shampoo tickle his nose as he breathes. He ducks his head to place a gentle kiss on her head and she shifts in his arms.

"You okay?" she mumbles blearily, lifting her head to meet his gaze.

"I'm great," he whispers, reaching up to brush his thumb across her cheek. "Go back to sleep."

Her lips purse a bit and her brow furrows. "You're thinking about something."

"It's nothing bad. Promise."

"Alright," she relents, settling against him once more. In the darkness he feels her whisper against his chest the two words that have already changed his world. "Love you."

"I love you, too."

And he means it. Completely.

His arms tighten around her and he smiles to himself as he holds her close in the dark, feeling her heart beating against his own. She believes in him, respects him, trusts him beyond reason, and loves him beyond a doubt. She shouldn't. There's no reason she should, but she does. And Callen feels his chest tighten with emotion at the realization that the way his life has been for as long as he can remember is no longer good enough. Going it alone isn't what he wants anymore. Waiting around for answers he may never find is no longer an excuse. For her, he wants more. He wants to try harder. He wants to show her every day how his life is better—how _he_ is a better person—because she's with him.

It may be scary, but Nell deserves more. And maybe giving her more means he can be just a little bit brave.


End file.
